The Long Road Home
by Silver pup
Summary: AU — In another lifetime, it is the Shire that is attacked and stolen by a dragon for reasons unknown. Years later, Bilbo Baggins embarks on a journey to Erebor in a desperate attempt to find aid in reclaiming his homeland. But once there, he finds that taking on a dragon will be the least of his concerns as he struggles through trials and the King Under the Mountain.
1. Act I: The Nomad - Chapter One

**The Long Road Home**

Summary: (AU) In another lifetime, it is the Shire that is attacked and stolen by a dragon for reasons unknown. Years later, Bilbo Baggins embarks on a journey to Erebor in a desperate attempt to find aid in reclaiming his homeland. But once there, he finds that taking on a dragon will be the least of his concerns as he struggles through trials, his own identity, and the King Under the Mountain.

Pairings: Thorin/Bilbo, Glóin/Cannon Wife, Dís/Cannon Husband, Bombur/OFC, Bifur/OMC. Others will be added as the story progresses.

Warnings: Does not follow cannon. No, seriously, this has nothing to do with cannon. _At all__._

Disclaimer: I do not own any familiar characters/settings/plot featured in this story. They all belong to (most likely rolling in his grave) **J.R.R. Tolkien**.

* * *

**A**ct **I**: The **N**omad

**C**hapter **O**ne

* * *

Out of all the places Bilbo had visited in his life, Rivendell was his favorite.

It wasn't really a surprise. The Elven city was hidden in a valley among the foothills of the Misty Mountains, surrounded by lush greenery, streaming waterfalls, and homes crafted with the finest artistry. The Elves who lived there were always welcoming to visitors no matter their race, and their hospitality was really the best when compared to their cousins in Mirkwood and Lothlórien. But the greatest reason that Bilbo liked it best was because it was the only place that he had ever felt truly safe from harm.

"How long will we be staying this time?" he quietly asked the older Hobbit at his side as they followed their clan up the familiar pristine staircase. The white stones were so clean and clear that he had a feeling if he stared at it long enough, then he would go blind.

Uncle Isengrim shrugged his wide shoulders. "I haven't had a chance to discuss it yet with Lord Elrond. But knowing him, I'd say about two seasons. Maybe three if I can send some of the boys out for work. Then we'll have less and they won't mind if we stay longer."

"And if they don't? Where will we go then?" he prodded, glancing up the stairs and counting the heads of the children he could see. The young ones had a bad habit of wandering off in new places, and Rivendell was certainly new to a few of them. Lola in particular was infamous for running off to 'explore.' He would have to keep an extra eye on her.

"I don't know," his uncle replied honestly, lowering his voice slightly, "but we'll find a place. Don't worry about it, lad. You have enough things to think about. Let me handle this."

Bilbo bit his lower lip sharply to keep from replying. He trusted that his uncle would find them a place to go to after Rivendell, but that didn't stop him from worrying about the location or the journey. He'd be a fool not to worry.

When they finally reached the top of the staircase, they found Lord Elrond waiting for them as some of the children scurried around his legs. The Elf didn't seem fazed, and even smiled down at them with open fondness. All Elves—even the suspicious and cold ones from Mirkwood—adored children.

"Hail, Lord Elrond," his uncle greeted, giving a small bow. "It is a pleasure to see you again. Thank you for granting us permission to visit your city. We appreciate your generosity."

Elrond nodded back as the corner of his full lips twitched into a half-smile that showed off the perfect arch of his jaw line. "Welcome back, Thain Took. It is always a pleasure to see you and your kin. I trust you did not have much trouble finding us?"

"No more trouble than usual," Isengrim replied, completely leaving out that they had been attacked by bandits. But considering there were only three, he probably did only see it as a minor nuisance. Bilbo certainly did.

The Elf nodded with gray eyes calm and smooth as liquid silver. "Of course. Please come and make yourselves at home. My people will show you where you may stay."

Isengrim bowed his head in gratitude before following the Elven Lord into the city. Bilbo lingered behind; looking over his kin as they shuffled along after the Elves. When his eyes caught sight of a small and familiar hand reaching up to pull on one Elf's long hair, he quickly moved closer and caught the tiny wrist before it could reach its prey.

"Don't even think about it," he whispered, pulling the child closer to his side. "I've told you about touching every little thing you see, Adelard."

Adelard, his youngest cousin, pouted up at him. "I was onlys gonna touch its a little bit. It's so shiny! Like water!"

He rolled his eyes and hauled the child up into his arms before he could try to make a break for it. "You can't go around touching a stranger's hair. It's not polite."

"What if I asks thems firstly? Thens can I touch it?" Adelard haggled, his small arms going around Bilbo's neck.

"No," he replied, making a mental note to teach the imp about stranger danger at a later time. "It's still not polite."

Adelard groaned and tossed his dark curls back dramatically. Bilbo smirked and quickly dug his fingers into the vulnerable ribs at his disposal. In return, the child squeaked before breaking into giggles and attempted to wiggle away.

"Bilbo, stop!" he pleaded, giggling into his cousin's shoulder. "I gives up!"

"Next time I catch you doing that I won't go so easy on you," he warned as he stopped his tickle torture.

Adelard rolled his brown eyes and curled closer to the older Hobbit. "Bilbo, is this going to be our new home?"

Bilbo flinched. It was a common enough question among the children whenever they came to a new place, but it still never failed to make his chest feel as if all the air had been sucked out. It was a feeling that he had lived with all his life, but that didn't make it easier to endure.

"No, Adelard. I'm afraid it's not," he replied softly, and tried not to show how much those words hurt him to say.

* * *

They hadn't always been nomads. According to his mother, Hobbits had a home of their own once. A beautiful and fertile land that was unlike any other place in the world. It was called the Shire.

"It sits in Eriador where the Kingdom of Arnor once lingered," Mother had explained to him when he was still a child. "It is a small but good land with lots of space to build homes and grow crops. Oh, love, it was so beautiful. Rolling green hills as far as the eye can see… streams so clear and clean you could see the bottom... There is no other place in the world that could ever compare to it."

Bilbo could only take her word for it. He had never seen this homeland for himself. No, he was (un)lucky to be born after they were driven out by the dragon Smaug.

"I remember the day he came," Father had once recounted to him when he was older. He recalled it well because it was the year that his father had passed away. "He was so large that he blocked out the sun completely. Fire rained down on us all. The fields burned, the houses burned, the cattle burned… even the people burned. He set fire to everything until there was nothing left but ashes."

"So many were lost that day," Mother had agreed, her beautiful and burned face twisting into a look of haunting sorrow that he could never understand. "More than half of us were killed. The ones who did live were left injured and homeless."

"We never did learn why the bastard chose to invade _our_ home," Father added, his blue eyes turning as cold as a night on the Misty Mountains. "We had no treasure to lure him there. No gold or silver or precious jewels to tempt him. Smaug had no reason at all to come and take our home away from us like that. No reason at all."

"Why didn't you fight to take it back?" Bilbo had asked because he had been born on the road where fighting to survive was all he knew. "Why not go and get help and then drive the beast out once and for all?"

His mother had just looked at him with soft brown eyes that mirrored his own. "Oh, love, our people are no warriors. We lived in peace with the world for so long that when we were finally challenged, we didn't know what to do. We still don't, really. It is taking everything we have just to keep our people going as it is. We could never muster the strength it would take to challenge Smaug for the Shire."

His parents had died believing that their people were doomed to wander the world forever more. Bilbo had no intention of following in their footsteps.

"I think staying here for three seasons would be the best option," he mentioned to his uncle later that night after they were settled into their new lodgings. "It will take me a full season alone just to reach Rhovanion. Coming back will be even longer."

Isengrim nodded as he rubbed his chin. "True. We must also take into account any… accidents you may run into."

Bilbo rolled his eyes, and leaned back into the padded chair that was really too large for him. "Uncle, I'll be fine. I've traveled to Rhovanion before."

"But never by yourself," the older Hobbit retorted, narrowing his hazel eyes. "And never with such a large sum of money."

"I can handle any danger out there," he replied, raising his chin high. "I can also hide the coin just as easily. I can do this, Uncle. Trust me."

"It's not you that I don't trust, Bilbo," his uncle admitted, rubbing his eyes with his thumb and forefinger as he leaned back into his own chair with a defeated sigh. Isengrim was the oldest of his mother's siblings, and it was becoming clearer every day that he wasn't going to last much longer. His dark brown curls had long ago turned gray while his skin was paper thin and wrinkled. Even his walk was beginning to grow slower and hunched as the injury he took to his knee from escaping Smaug finally reared its ugly head.

Bilbo felt a prickle of guilt at the sight. After his mother died, Isengrim had taken him in and raised him to adulthood. He loved his uncle dearly and he owed him everything. Making the Thain look so old and defeated was wrong of him.

"I know you're only worried about my safety," he said quietly, lowering his chin and looking down to the floor. "But that doesn't change what needs to be done. If we ever want to go home, then you need to let me go."

Isengrim nodded and sat up straighter. "You're right, of course. Now is not the time to fall apart. We must focus on your journey. Now, have you decided which city you plan to visit first?"

He tapped his fingers against his knee in thought. "Yes, I have decided to first visit Dale and Erebor. Dale is a city of Men but rumors say that the ruling lord there is honorable. I will see what forces I can buy from there and Erebor before moving on to the Iron Hills. I do not know how the Dwarves will take my offer of gold, but I'm hoping the challenge of battle might win me a few warriors."

"What of Gondor? Will you visit there?" the older Hobbit questioned.

He shook his head. "Not unless I'm desperate. The steward there is rumored to be ruthless and cruel. He is more likely to kill me and rob my corpse than he is to help me."

"He did show little sympathy to our crisis when the Baggins went to him for help," Isengrim admitted, nodding his head with a small frown. "You'd save yourself time avoiding it altogether along with Mirkwood and Lothlórien."

"You do not think the Elves will offer us their aid?" he asked quietly, watching his uncle's face.

Isengrim's mouth tightened into a straight line. "We asked for their help once in the beginning and were turned away. I doubt that they would have changed their minds within the last hundred years."

Bilbo thought back to the Elvenking and his expressionless face, and found himself agreeing. "You're right. I will not bother with them unless forced to. Have you decided who will go through Eriador?"

"Yes. I've decided to send your cousin Sigismond to the Blue Mountains," his uncle replied. "I also think I will send a few more of the lads along to find work there, and to make contact with the other clans."

"What for? They've clearly shown what they think of our plan," he said with a hint of iron in his tone.

Isengrim gave him the same look his mother used to give him when she caught him stealing treats from Men. "Bilbo, you cannot hold it against them for staying out of this. This venture of ours is large and mostly riding on luck and good fortune; a state that the other clans cannot rely on. They are weaker and poorer than us, and cannot afford to place everything they have on this mad quest. At least if we fail we still have work and savings to count on; the others do not have such a luxury."

Bilbo snorted but didn't bother trying to argue with his uncle. He knew he was being childish but he couldn't help being angry with the other Hobbit clans for refusing to help them in their attempt to reclaim the Shire. It was their home too so why couldn't they fight for it as well? It didn't help either that the Baggins Clan—his father's family—were one of the strongest oppositions to their quest.

"When shall I leave then?" he asked, changing the subject. "After you meet with Lord Elrond?"

"That would be best," Isengrim agreed, lacing his fingers together over his flat stomach. It was a strange thing to see a thin Hobbit as their kind was more prone to being plump and round. But living on the fringes of society meant that food was scare, and going hungry was all too common. It was very rare to see a Hobbit that was not thin with sharp cheekbones and bony wrists. Sometimes they were even mistaken for Elven children thanks to their pointed ears and lack of facial hair.

"I need to know how long we will be staying before I send you off," his uncle continued, rubbing one of his thumbs over his knuckles. "We also need to prepare you for the journey."

He smiled and shook his head. "Don't worry, Uncle. I've packed what I need and am ready to sew the coins into the secret pockets in my coat and bag. Once I do I can immediately leave."

The Hobbit blinked for a moment before chuckling fondly. "Of course you are. How silly of me to forget exactly whose son you are."

His smile widened and he gave his uncle a wink. "We Baggins may not be the most bold of the clans, but we are certainly the most prepared."

"Sadly, that is the only redeeming feature you Baggins hold," Isengrim replied with a mocking cluck of his tongue. "It makes up for your taste in pies and fabric."

Bilbo gave a loud gasp and clutched his chest as if in physical pain. "Uncle, you wound me! How can you be so cruel to your favorite nephew—"

"I don't see Flambard in the room," Isengrim interrupted, raising both of his bushy brows.

"—who was even going to be so kind as to make you some tea?" he finished as he slid out of the chair with a melodramatic huff. "Well, not anymore, I say. You can get your own tea and your own biscuits and save your own bloody land because I quit this family—"

"Bring some milk and honey while you're at it," Isengrim called from behind as he stalked out of the room.

Bilbo gave another dramatic scoff that finally earned him the chuckle he was aiming for, and secretly smiled to himself. Hearing his uncle laugh was always like swallowing a mouthful of sunshine. Tooks usually had a good sense of humor and were always willing to laugh and smile—even when living as nomads who begged for help to survive at whatever kingdom they came across. But Isengrim was Thain of the Tooks; the leader of their clan and the one everyone depended on to find them shelter and food. He had a lot to worry about and very little time to sit around telling jokes over a pitcher of ale. So it was always a rare gift to get his uncle to smile or even laugh once in a great while.

_Soon he'll be able to smile and laugh all he wants_, Bilbo vowed to himself as stalked through the halls to the kitchens. _We all will._

* * *

Their plan to reclaim the Shire was really a very simple one despite what the other clans thought. Hobbits, while being quick and silent, were no warriors. They were shorter than even Dwarves with soft flesh that did little to protect their equally small bones. Even their very culture went against battle; preferring to settle disputes with words rather than fists. They could never hope to stand against a dragon with those odds against them.

So, instead, they would assemble an army to fight Smaug for them.

Anyone who heard it agreed that it was a good plan. The only hitch to it was that it was also a _long_ one. First they had to work and gather the coin needed to hire their army. Since they were already beggars living off of the pity of others, they could only save so much after each job. Isengrim had told him that he had begun the plan years before Bilbo was even born. Now, with Bilbo at the age of thirty, they had finally collected enough coin to buy their army.

"Yah won't find anyone crazy enough to volunteer," his cousin, Fortinbras, said to him the next day as he helped Bilbo peel potatoes. "No one is gonna go against a dragon no matter how much gold ya' throw at 'um."

"I will find willing soldiers somewhere," he retorted confidently, never looking away from his task. "Some warriors will take it as a challenge. Others because they simply love the rush of battle. And then there are those who will be lured by the promise of gold and fame that come with slaying a dragon."

"The only ones who'd fall for 'dat line are dem greedy Men and crazy Dwarves," Fortinbras argued, pointing his knife at Bilbo's cheek. "And ya can't bring back the likes of those. D'ayed kill us and rob us 'for the bodies go cold."

He rolled his eyes and nudged the knife away from his face with his own blade. "Don't be so paranoid. I'm not going to hire just anyone for this. I'm going to investigate first before I make my decision. I'll gather information on them and their reputation before I drag them off to fight Smaug."

"I still say 'dis is a stupid idea," his cousin grumbled, viciously peeling his potato with deep and quick strikes. "We should just use 'da coin to buy land and start over again. What's 'da point of going back to a land that most of us has neveh seen?"

"Do you know of any land up for sale?" Bilbo pointed out, raising both of his eyebrows as he stared at the Hobbit next to him. "Any kingdom that would welcome us without complaint from their people? If you do then please share it with us less intelligent folk, Fortinbras."

"Y'know, it's remarks like 'dat that keep gettin' you in trouble," Fortinbras retorted, tossing back his thick black curls as they fell into his fey green eyes again. His cousin was half Brandybuck and had inherited the wild beauty that his mother's clan was known for. Unfortunately he didn't get their militia tactics and cunning mindset, which was a real shame because he was next in line as the Thain of the Tooks.

"Maybe. But I can handle any trouble that comes my way," Bilbo reminded his older cousin, nudging the other's pale calf with his bare foot.

Fortinbras scoffed and nudged him back with his elbow. "Get 'dat nasty foot away from me! Where's your damn bandages? Y'know how dirty our feet get. Ya wanna offend our hosts by dirtying up their shiny floors?"

He snorted, and threw one of his potato peels at Fortinbras's hair. "They ripped back in the mountains, remember? I'll get more before I leave."

Fortinbras set his knife and potato down in his lap, and turned to face the other Hobbit completely with a frown. "Bilbo, how long you gonna be gone?"

"I don't know. However long it takes," he replied, shrugging. "Maybe three seasons or more. It will take me a good while just to reach the city of Dale, and even longer to visit Erebor and the Iron Hills."

Fortinbras's finely boned face twisted into a scowl that looked wrong on his handsome features. "That's too long to be on your own. Y'ah should have one of us come with ya just to be safe."

Bilbo shook his head firmly. "No. Uncle will be sending you and the others out for work while I'm gone. You need to help support the clan incase this plan backfires on us."

"But dat's even more reason for us tah stick together!" his cousin argued, his scowl turning even fiercer until he looked like a deranged animal instead of a Hobbit. "Y'ah needs someone there to back yah up! Isengrim knows 'dat! He should be lettin' me go with yah instead of sendin' me off tah work in some smelly city of Men!"

"You know he can't send you; you're the heir and eldest among us," he reminded calmly as he finished his potato and picked up a new one. Fortinbras was very emotional so he was quite used to his cousin's outbursts. Sometimes it seemed like he felt too strongly and could only handle one emotion at a time as it consumed him completely. It was a common enough trait among Tooks, but Bilbo had been able to avoid inheriting it, thank Eru.

"If something happens to you then Flambard will be the heir," he continued on, giving the other a side-eyed look. "Do you really want to force our clan through such horror? Haven't we suffered enough?"

Fortinbras's shoulders drooped and his scowl shifted into a pout. "No. Dat's a cruelty I wouldn't wish even on an Orc. But I can't stand that you're leavin' us for so long. We've never been apart for more 'den a season at most! What am I supposed to do with ya gone for almost a year?"

Bilbo felt his heart soften as the puzzle finally clicked in his head. Fortinbras and he had grown up together along with their cousins Flambard, Adalgrim, Sigisimond, and Primula. They had lived side-by-side and had experienced nearly everything together. They had lived apart at times, of course, but never for so long or so far. It was a new experience for them all, and he could admit that part of him was scared to leave his family behind for so long. It was only logical that Fortinbras would feel that same fear even if he would never admit it in a million years.

"Well, you could write me letters. Eru knows you can't spell to save your life," he offered, nudging his cousin in the side with his elbow because humor and flattery was the best way to comfort Fortinbras. Bilbo could do humor and sarcasm but he wasn't about to coo over his older cousin. His head got any bigger than Fortinbras would need grease to get through doorways.

"Oi, you're the Baggins here, not me," Fortinbras scoffed, raising his pert nose high into the air. "You can go on stealin' your little books for 'da both of us. D'hough… I _could_ write a letter or two for yah. Since I know 'yah like to read 'um so much."

Bilbo carefully titled his head to the side so the other wouldn't see his smile. "It would be good practice for you. Maybe soon you will be able to read better than Adelard."

"But Adelard can't read yet," his cousin argued with a frown before his eyes went wide. "Oh, I get it, yur tryin' to be funny again. Too bad it fails as bad as yur omelets."

"Ooh, big word there. Did you hurt yourself learning it?" he shot back, flicking another potato peel at his cousin's hair.

Fortinbras squawked and retaliated with his own stray peels. Bilbo ducked and laughed as his cousin began to rant about his hair. While he didn't care to listen to Fortinbras grumble, he didn't complain or attempt to change the subject. After all, who knew when he was going to hear it again?

* * *

"So Uncle says you're leaving soon," Primula—his only female cousin on the Took side that was close to his age—declared later that day as she stood over him with her hands braced on her round hips. She was dressed in loose brown trousers that she had probably stolen from Sigisimond and a white shirt that was only buttoned halfway up her chest. Bilbo cringed slightly as he saw more of her breasts than he wanted to.

"Please button up your shirt. You teats are falling out," he said, pointedly covering his eyes with one hand.

Primula snorted, and shoved his hand away; clearly ignoring his wishes. "Then don't look, stupid."

"Do you have any sort of shame?" he wondered, keeping his eyes on her face.

She smirked and crossed her arms under her chest; shoving her breasts up and together so that they pushed out of her shirt even more. It was clearly a deliberate move, and he kicked her gently in the shin for it.

"You're such a brat," he grumbled without any real heat. "What do you want, Prim?"

"I just wanted to give you something before you left," she replied, reaching for something long and wrapped in cloth that she had strapped to her back. She tugged it loose and then handed it to Bilbo. "Here. Open it up and tell me what you think."

Bilbo did as asked and blinked in surprise at what he found. "A sword? Where did you get this?"

"A Man back in Rohan was selling some odd blades he had collected over the years," Primula explained, squatting down in front of him and wrapping her arms around her legs. "He claimed it's Elven but got no use with it 'cuz it's so small. Do you like it?"

He nodded as he examined the smooth sword with reverence. He had seen many beautiful blades in his life, but this one was quite possible the loveliest of them all. "I do. Thank you, Prim. It is the best gift I could ever get."

Primula's rosebud lips softened into a sweet smile at his words. Nearby, a few Hobbits and even some Elves paused and took a second glance at her. Like Fortinbras, Primula was a Brandybuck from her father's side, and had inherited the same good looks as him. The only difference was that she didn't bask in the attention her midnight curls and soft skin brought her.

"I knew you would love it," she cheered, rocking back slightly on her heels. "As soon as I saw it I knew I had to get it for you! It just matches you perfectly! What are you gonna to call it?"

"I think I'll call it 'Sting' since I can poke people like a bee," he replied, making a jabbing motion with the blade in question.

Prim looked unimpressed. "Really? That's the best name you can think up?"

"You have something better?" he retorted, lightly smacking her in the leg with the flat end of his blade.

"Pff, yeah, how about 'The Cleaver?' Since you're gonna cleave Orcs with it," his cousin replied, pushing the sword away with her hand.

Bilbo snorted, and carefully placed his new gift on the ground next to him. "I'm pretty sure the Dwarves already claimed that name."

Prim hummed in her throat as she cocked her head to the side. "Bilbo?"

"Hmm?"

"You'll be safe, right? Going so far away alone," she said, staring at him through her midnight curls. "You won't take any dangerous chances, right?"

He carefully looked away from her wide brown eyes. "Define dangerous."

"Bilbo," Prim warned, her tone shifting from honey to iron in a blink.

He held up his hands in surrender and leaned back slightly. "Joking, joking. I promise I'm not going to do anything stupid. I'll stay safe and find us our army and be back before you know it."

"And if you're not? What will we do then?" she asked quietly, lowering her gaze to the ground. "What do we do if this doesn't work? Will we spend the rest of our days wandering?"

Though he hated to admit it, he didn't have an answer for her. There was no backup plan if his mission failed. No second chance to hire someone new to help them, no savior coming to assist them in defeating Smaug. The future of his people—_his family_—was riding on his success in finding an army. If Bilbo failed them, then his clan really would be the nomads his parents died as.

"I'm not going to fail," he said with a confidence that he couldn't honestly claim, "and I'm not going to get hurt or die. I'm going to bring us an army and get our home back, Prim. I won't accept anything else."

Primula peered up at him from under her thick lashes for a long moment before finally breaking out a smile. "You sound so sure of yourself, cousin. It makes me almost want to believe that nothing will go wrong."

"I didn't say that there won't be some trouble," he rebuked, shaking his head. "But I will get through it all one way or another. Sting will probably even help in some cases."

"Not with that name it won't," the younger Hobbit retorted, wrinkling her freckled nose at him. "You're more likely to get laughed at than threatened."

"Either way, it would still get me out of some messy situations," he pointed out, pushing some of his hair out of his face. "Can you do me a favor while I'm gone?"

"Sure. What is it?"

"Take care of Uncle Isengrim while I'm way," he answered, leaning forward slightly and lowering his voice so their younger cousins nearby wouldn't hear. "I won't be around to make sure he eats and gets enough sleep so I need you to do it. If you don't, he'll end up giving his food away to the younglings again, and will stay up all night working."

Primula nodded her head thoughtfully. "You're right. He'll also probably be lonely without you around. Don't worry, Bibi; I'll take care of him."

Bilbo relaxed and leaned back to his former position. "Thank you, Prim. You're the only one I knew I could trust with this. The others… they just wouldn't understand."

Primula patted his knee in sympathy. Like Bilbo, Primula had lost both of her parents at a young age in a fishing accident. She had lived with her father's clan for a short while before their Uncle Hildifons took her in. And much like Isengrim, Hildifons had no spouse or children, and so Prim became his world, and she in turn adored him dearly.

"I know, Bilbo, I know," she said, giving him her sweet smile that drew in the stares and whispers. "I'll keep an eye on him. Uncle Hildifons will probably even help too. He knows how Uncle Isengrim is like if left unattended."

"Just don't leave them alone together for too long," he warned as he felt his heart ease up at her vow. "You know what happens when you leave two Took brothers unsupervised. We really can't afford to pay for the repairs the Elves would demand."

* * *

Bilbo didn't tell anyone but Isengrim the day he was leaving. He knew that if he did tell the rest of his family, then they would make a huge fuss in sending him off. Not only would that inconvenience their hosts—and possibly get them kicked out—but it would also weaken his resolve to leave. Bilbo really didn't want to leave his clan; he loved them all with everything he was, and they were the safe and comfortable life he knew. But he also knew that he couldn't allow his fear of the unknown to get in the way of his mission. So, knowing all of that, Bilbo had only his uncle there to bid him farewell for what could possibly be the last time.

"You have your map on you, yes?" Isengrim questioned as he looked Bilbo up and down.

He nodded, and patted his coat pocket that held the map in question. "Safe and sound right here."

"And your knife? You have that too?" Isengrim pushed.

He patted in left thigh in answer. "It's right where it always is."

The older Hobbit still didn't look reassured. "What about food? You sure you have enough—"

"Uncle," he interrupted, trying not to laugh, "I promise that I have everything that I need. And what I don't have I can find on my own. So stop clucking over me before I start calling you Aunt Rosa."

"You offend me. I am nothing like that she-devil," sniffed the Thain, raising his thin nose into the air. "I am appalled that name would ever cross your mind."

Bilbo rolled his eyes, and hefted his pack higher up on his shoulder. "So you say. Well, if there's nothing else, then I should—"

"Wait," Isengrim said, this time interrupting him in midsentence. His hazel eyes flickered over Bilbo before meeting his nephew's gaze full on. When he did, Bilbo saw something wither away like a breeze sweeping away the leaves.

"Bilbo… I'm sorry," his uncle murmured, his voice cracking slightly. "I never wanted to burden you with this. I never meant for you to be a part of my crazy plans. If your mother were still alive, I'm sure she would have punched me for even suggesting that you carry out the plan."

Bilbo flinched. "Uncle," he whispered, his heart clenching up at the sight of pain in the older Hobbit's face. He should have seen this coming. Isengrim had no spouse or children and had lost three brothers and a sister to Smaug's invasion. In the years that followed, he had lost another brother, his two remaining sisters, and a vast number of nephews and nieces and cousins. Bilbo and the clan were all he had left in the world, and now he was about to send one of them off to his potential death.

Slowly, Bilbo reached out and grasped his uncle's shoulders tightly. "Uncle Isengrim, I'm coming back. With or without an army, I will come back to you all. I promise."

"Oh, lad," Isengrim sighed, giving Bilbo a small, half-smile. "You really shouldn't make such a promise so lightly. It may just come back to haunt you."

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

So I always wanted to do a story where Thorin and Bilbo met as different people, but I couldn't get behind the idea of changing their race/gender/social class. So I decided to change their back stories instead. And then I got a bit carried away. Whoops.

**Silver pup**


	2. Act I: The Nomad - Chapter Two

Disclaimer: I do not own any familiar characters/settings/plot featured in this story. They all belong to (most likely rolling in his grave) **J.R.R. Tolkien**.

* * *

**A**ct **I**: The **N**omad

**C**hapter **T**wo

* * *

It took Bilbo a full season to reach Rhovanion.

As far as traveling went, it was a rather uneventful ordeal. He faced the occasional wandering animal and rough bandit, but he dealt with them sufficiently enough through fleeing or fighting. He wasn't forced to endure any extreme weather conditions, or a traveling caravan of quick-talking Dwarves. He even got through Mirkwood without being interrogated by one of the wild Elves that lived there. In fact, it was not until he was in the outskirts of Dale that he encountered something that made him pause.

Orcs.

If there was ever a race that he wished death upon, it would be the Orcs. They were vicious monsters who were unfortunately as cunning as they were bloodthirsty. A good deal of his people had been killed and eaten by the horrible beasts ever since they lost the Shire. Bilbo personally recalled a few relatives who had died at their hands. With that blood vendetta on him, he always made it a habit of killing as many of the creatures as he could.

This time was no different.

The moment he heard the sound of battle, he slipped behind the nearest tree and pulled up his brown cloak so it covered his hair and allowed him to blend in with the foliage. Then, silently, he followed the sounds and eventually the smell of blood and feces to the Orcs. If there was one thing that was consistent about the monsters, it was that they never bathed, and could therefore always be found through smell alone.

When he finally found the beasts, he discovered that they were not alone. A single Dwarf with long black hair was fighting three of them with an axe and the strangest shield that he had ever seen. When Bilbo looked closer, he realized that the shield was not even a proper shield; it was simply a piece of oak carved and smoothed down to fit the warrior's thick forearm.

_Dwarves. They get stranger every year_, he thought to himself, rolling his eyes as he found the nearest tree and began to climb. He kept an eye on the Orcs and Dwarf but none of them noticed him as he deftly slipped up the branches until he was properly hidden amongst the leaves. As he climbed, he saw that the Dwarf was not alone; two other Dwarves laid motionless on the ground a few feet away from him. Both of them had the back of their heads bashed in by what was most likely the huge hammer that one of the Orcs was swinging.

_Bastards_, he thought in disgust, feeling anger and sorrow rise in him. Even if he didn't hate Orcs, seeing those two Dwarves dead sealed his resolve to kill the three creatures below him. It didn't matter that he didn't know the Dwarves personally, or that the whole battle didn't involve him one bit. They had unjustly killed two people and were trying to kill a third; Bilbo was going to make them pay.

Sliding his bow off his back, the Hobbit picked pulled out a single arrow from the quiver at his hips. Carefully taking aim, he watched the Orcs patiently until he could properly predict their movements. Once he was satisfied with what he knew, he released the arrow and watched it bury itself in the open flesh of one of the Orc's backs.

Hobbit' arrows were always too small and light to do any serious damage like the arrows of Men and Elves. But the arrow _was_ perfect for hurting its target and distracting it from everything else. As the Orc he hit screamed and clawed at the shaft of the arrow, the Dwarf it had been fighting previously took the opportunity to bury his axe into the Orc's thigh. The Orc lost its balance from the sudden hit and collapsed to its knees; putting it in the perfect position for the Dwarf to neatly behead it with one swing.

Bilbo didn't bother to wait for the Dwarf to act. As soon as he released his first arrow, he was pulling out another and lining it up and releasing it. As he watched, it went through the delicate skin of an Orc's hamstring and brought it to its knees too. Soon enough it joined its companion in the headless club.

The final Orc—now alone and at a clear disadvantage—snarled and tried to smash the Dwarf's face open with a club only to miss as the Dwarf dodged it. Bilbo quickly put another arrow in its neck while the Dwarf followed up with an axe to the belly. The Orc gasped and collapsed in a twitching mess, but did not get up.

At that point, Bilbo would usually wait for the Dwarf to leave before climbing down the tree to retrieve his arrows. From his experience, whenever he helped a Dwarf in battle, it either resulted in offended hostility or overwhelming gratitude; neither of which he had time for. These days he simply avoided interacting with the people he helped altogether.

But this Dwarf was not following the proper procedure of picking up his things and leaving. In fact, he did something even worse: he collapsed to the ground and did not get back up.

_Uh oh. Don't tell me he's dead_, the Hobbit worried, biting his lower lip. With a heavy heart, he tugged his bow back into place on his back and quickly climbed down the tree. He dropped off the third branch and landed in a crouch before running over to the motionless Dwarf. Rolling him over onto his back, he examined the stranger, and found that he had been stabbed in the shoulder along with numerous other smaller injuries.

The Dwarf groaned and opened his eyes to stare up at Bilbo. "W-Who…?"

"I'm the one who helped you with the Orcs," he quickly filled in, meeting the stranger's eyes and examining them. The pupils were so wide and glazed that he could barely make out the ring of light blue around them. "What happened? What did they stab you with?"

The Dwarf's gaze flickered over to one of the Orcs. Bilbo followed his gaze, and spotted the sword in its limp hand. Quickly he got to his feet and rushed over to pick up the blade and examine it. When he saw what was on it, he wrinkled his nose in disgust.

"Witches' thimbles," he spat, throwing the blade to the ground and marching back to his patient. "Bastards. But don't worry; I can help you. I have crushed charcoal with me."

The Dwarf didn't seem to hear him as he closed his eyes and struggled to breathe. Bilbo kneeled down next to him and reached for his pack that held all of his healing supplies. When he found the vial he was looking for, he quickly pulled it out, and then wormed his arm under the Dwarf's head in order to make him sit up.

"Come on now; help me out here and drink this," he ordered, bracing the heavy Dwarf's body against his own. "You need to drink it if you want to live. It will taste disgusting so try not to throw it back up."

The Dwarf opened his eyes and sluggishly took the vial that Bilbo held in front of him and knocked it back with one gulp. He coughed a bit but managed to keep it down for the most part. Satisfied, he helped the Dwarf lay back down, and then turned his attention to the open wounds that still needed to be treated.

"Sorry about this," he said before pulling out his knife where it was strapped to his thigh, and began slicing the Dwarf's armor off. He was lucky the stranger was wearing only leather and not the full-plate armor that he had seen some Dwarves in. With his knife, he was able to slice through everything until he came upon the Dwarf's hairy chest.

Bilbo clucked his tongue when he saw the wounded shoulder. It was a clean cut but a piece of metal was stuck in the flesh. That had to be removed if he wanted the Dwarf to live. "Try not to jerk up and punch me," he told the stranger as he began to pull out the piece of broken weaponry with a pair of small tongs.

To his relief, the Dwarf hissed and jerked but did not fight him. Slowly he pulled the piece of metal free and tossed it off to the side without a care. With the threat of infection gone, Bilbo turned his attention to cleaning and stitching up the wound to the best of his abilities. When he was done, he then focused on cleaning up the minor wounds, and even bandaged the ones that looked like they could risk becoming inflamed.

It was late afternoon by the time he was done. When he looked up at the sky, he was surprised to see how much time had gone by while he was tending to his patient. Soon night would fall, which meant that he needed to find shelter as he wouldn't be able to walk any further for the day.

"You used up a lot of my time," he told the unconscious Dwarf as he looked around the clearing for a good place to rest for the night. "If you end up dying on me in the night, then I am going to be very upset with you."

The Dwarf, naturally, didn't reply.

Bilbo did his best to drag the Dwarf off the main road and deeper into the woods, where he dug a shallow hole that he padded with his own mat and blanket and cloak. There he placed his patient with as many leaves as he could gather around him and, after making sure he was still breathing, started a small fire close to him. He had just gotten himself comfortable at long last when the sound of hooves coming from the south of the road caught his attention

Groaning under his breath, Bilbo pushed some dirt over the fire and then pushed the leaves he had gathered earlier over his patient. With the Dwarf safe, he climbed a tree close to the road so he could see who was coming, but still close enough to his unconscious companion.

_Can't be Orcs. No smell or howls_, the Hobbit mused, stretching out on the branch so he could rest on his stomach and swing one of his legs in the air idly. Resting his chin on his folded hands, he waited as the riders grew closer and closer until he could count six of them in all. He expected them to ride past him, but instead they stopped once they saw the corpses he had left on the road. As he continued to watch, the riders dismounted and began to exam the bodies of the Dwarves and Orcs while muttering to each other in a tongue that he didn't speak, but recognized all too well.

_Khuzdûl. More Dwarves and I know who they're looking for_, he thought, sighing to himself softly as he sat up and swung his legs over the branch. Silently he pushed himself off the branch and dropped to the ground in a crouch that drew the attention of the Dwarves in the road. Before he even stood up straight, Bilbo found himself surrounded with various weapons pointed at him.

"Relax. I'm not your enemy," he said, holding his hands up to show that he was unarmed. "You're Dwarves, yes? Most likely friends of those slain Dwarves over there?"

"You're a Hobbit," stated one of the Dwarves, pushing back his brown hood back to reveal a mass of thick red hair and a beard so bushy and long that it reached his knees.

Bilbo raised his eyebrows at the remark. "What gave it away? My ears? Or my feet?"

Another Dwarf with a green cloak and a gold belt stepped closer until he towered over Bilbo. He wasn't very fazed though. He had lived among Men and Elves so he was quite used to being loomed over.

"What is a Hobbit doing here?" the Dwarf asked, looking down at Bilbo. He was an impressive example of his kind with wide shoulders and dense arms and a black beard that he kept tucked into his belt. The top of his head was, oddly enough, shaved clean and decorated with an assortment of tattoos. He had a large nose and thick brows and dark eyes that were narrowed on Bilbo.

"Saving Dwarves," he replied blandly, crossing his arms over his chest. "Are you looking for one? Perhaps one with long black hair and a misshapen twig for a shield?"

One of the Dwarves began to cough so violently into his hand that one of his comrades had to pound him on the back so he could breathe. Bilbo wondered fleetingly if perhaps he had a cold.

The Dwarf before him narrowed his eyes even further until they resembled slits of midnight in the lines of his brown skin. "Tell me where he is, halfling, before I lose the patience I don't have."

Bilbo rolled his eyes but pointed over his shoulder with his thumb. "He's at my camp. He was stabbed by one of the Orcs and fell unconscious."

The Dwarf growled—honestly growled like a bear, oh the jokes he could make over that—and pushed past him without another word. The other five quickly followed and he couldn't help but roll his eyes again.

_Dwarves. Always so dramatic._

He followed the pack of Dwarves into the forest and, when they were about to march past where he had hidden their friend, called out to them to stop. They did and turned to stare at him some more as he calmly walked to the small pit and brushed away the leaves until the Dwarf was visible.

"What is he doing in a ditch?!" squawked the redhead who had spoken earlier.

"I was hiding him incase more trouble showed up," he replied, glancing at the Dwarves over his shoulder to them a judging look. "How else do you expect me to keep him safe?"

The Dwarf with dark eyes marched over and knelt down next to them. Bilbo wordlessly leaned back and allowed the stranger to examine his friend with shaky hands and a clenched jaw. Watching the Dwarf, he felt sympathy bloom in his heart for the obvious worry and concern the other had for his friend. Waiting to find out if someone you loved was alive or dead was a horrible experience no matter how strong you thought you were.

"I tended to his injuries the best I could, but you really should get him to a better healer as soon as possible," he said quietly, watching the Dwarf.

The stranger's head snapped up and he stared at Bilbo for a moment before giving a jerky nod. He yelled something in his native tongue to the others, and soon they were lifting the unconscious Dwarf and gently carrying him back to the ponies. Bilbo watched them go before looking up to the tall Dwarf that still lingered at his side.

"Thank you for saving him," the Dwarf rumbled in his deep voice. "What you have done here tonight… there are no words to describe our gratitude."

Bilbo shrugged, and absently rubbed his foot against the back of his calf. "I hate Orcs and he needed help. It was the only possible course of action."

"Still, you have my gratitude. If there ever comes a day you need help, I promise to provide it," the Dwarf vowed, bracing a fist over his heart and bowing at the waist to the Hobbit. "Simply come to Erebor and ask for Dwalin son of Fundin."

"Dwalin," he repeated, testing the strange name out on his tongue. "Well it was nice to meet you, Dwalin, but I'm afraid you don't need to promise such a debt. I don't help people because I want something in return. I do it because it is the right thing to do."

Dwalin tilted his head slightly and stared at him with an expression Bilbo could not place. "You truly believe that?"

"I would not have said it if I didn't mean it," he pointed out, frowning. "Do Dwarves do that? Say things they don't mean?"

"Depends on the Dwarrow," replied Dwalin, the corner of his mouth twitching like he wanted to smile but just couldn't remember how. "What is a Hobbit doing out here? I thought you folk traveled in clans."

"I'm traveling alone on private business," Bilbo answered vaguely as he made a point of looking in the direction that the other Dwarves had walked off in. "Shouldn't you be leaving? Your comrade still needs aid."

The mighty Dwarf's face twisted into a frown once more, and he gave Bilbo one last bow before finally departing. He watched the strange Dwarf go and wondered, idly, if he would ever see them again.

_Highly unlikely_, Bilbo thought to himself, shaking his head and returning to his small camp for the rest of the night.

* * *

Dale was a colorful city filled with equally colorful people of all types. It was a trading town that survived through their merchants and alliances with the Dwarves of Erebor and the Elves of Mirkwood. Out of all the cities of Men that he had seen, Dale was easily one of Bilbo's favorites. However, though it was a lovely town with cheerful people always looking to make new friends or business ventures, it was also very lacking in warriors. Dale had an army of their own, of course, but they relied mostly on the protection of their much more powerful neighbors. Bilbo knew with one look that he would not find the soldiers he needed there.

But beyond Dale, in a mountain so large that it could be seen from the Misty Mountains, laid the city of Erebor. Bilbo had never lived in Erebor though he had lived next to it for a season while working in Dale. He had encountered a few Dwarves from the mountain during that time, but had never been to see the city himself. So when he finally entered the great city for the first time in his life, he was unprepared for the sight before him.

Erebor… Erebor was a _marvel_. Carved out of the very stone of the mountain, it was a masterpiece of architect and devotion that he had never seen anywhere else in the world. It was nothing like the homes of the Elves, who built their cities within nature as if they were one and the same. It was not even like the towns of Men, who took what they wanted and built whatever their minds dreamed up. No, Erebor was a city made up of both and yet neither. It was a home chiseled out of the Lonely Mountain to create a vision that he could never think up in his wildest dreams. It was a city that lived within the heart of the mountain but existed on its own terms.

It was, quite possibly, the most beautiful city Bilbo had ever seen in his life.

Unfortunately, it was also a _large_ city. The moment he stepped through the gates he found himself overwhelmed by Dwarves of every class moving about their business. From merchants to warriors, to nobles and commoners; they all mingled about talking and arguing and laughing and yelling. Each Dwarf was dressed fetchingly either in silk robes dyed in bright colors, or fine armor crafted from metals that he could only guess at. Even the more common Dwarves paraded about in stylish clothes cut in unique patterns with copper and iron jewelry adorning their hair. He had never seen such a richly crafted kingdom before! The Dwarves of the Blue Mountains, the only Dwarves he had ever really interacted with, were rougher folk who lived practically. They never displayed their finery in such an obvious manner nor did they live in a mountain so great and wealthy. Overwhelmed by it all, Bilbo could only stand there and stare at it all in amazement.

He soon realized what a mistake _that_ was when he felt someone cut the strap of his coin purse from his belt.

"Hey!" he yelled, jerking around on instinct to catch the thief. Behind him stood a Dwarf with hair the color of persimmon that was braided to resemble a _star_—an actual _star_; these Dwarves clearly had too much time on their hands—and who winked at him before disappearing into the crowd. Bilbo gaped for a moment before taking off after the thief who had just high jacked his money.

The thief was quick and moved through the crowds with ease that spoke of years of experience. He also, unfortunately, had the advantage of being taller and familiar with the city. But Bilbo was stubborn and knew for a fact that _he_ was faster than the Dwarf. He had spent his whole life running—away from danger, into danger, from one place to another—and it had finally paid off. He sprinted after the thief; slipping around and through the gaps in the crowds of Dwarves as he slowly gained ground. Once he finally caught up to the Dwarf, he lowered himself into a crouch and then leaped onto the Dwarf in one bound.

Bilbo and the Dwarf hit the hard ground together in a tangle of limbs. He felt something in his elbow and knee crack, but ignored it in favor of rolling them over so he had the Dwarf pinned with his knife against the thief's throat. He glared down at the gasping thief, and leaned his weight forward so he could hold the Dwarf's midsection down better with his knees.

"Thief," he hissed, pressing his knife in warning against the pale skin of the Dwarf's neck. "You'll pay for stealing from me. I'm turning you into the authorities over this."

The Dwarf simply stared up at him with wide eyes. "Y-You… You caught me…"

The Hobbit snorted. "Obviously."

"W-What is wrong with you?!" the thief snapped, his face shifting into a glare. "You're not supposed to chase me and tackle me!"

"Really? And what do you suggest I do? Let you run off with my money?" Bilbo asked with mocking sweetness.

"It would be the polite thing to do," the Dwarf agreed, nodding his head slightly and then wincing as the blade dug into his skin.

Bilbo bit his lower lip to keep from smirking at the joke. Now was not the time to be charmed by his mugger. "I'm turning you into the authorities. Get up—"

"What is going on here?!" a deep voice yelled in Westron behind him. Bilbo had only a moment to wince at the harsh noise against his sensitive ears before he found himself hauled off the thief. He was dangled in the air by a large Dwarf dressed in iron armor with red highlights. Two more stood behind him in the same armor and helmets that covered their faces from view.

"What is the meaning of this commotion?" growled the Dwarf as he held him up in the air like a misbehaving kitten. One of his companions yanked the thief up and wrapped a hand around his bicep to keep him from bolting.

Bilbo pointed at the thief and looked to the Dwarf holding him. "He stole my money!"

"Lies. I did nothing of the sort," the thief lied, wrinkling his nose at the Hobbit. He then smirked slightly and leaned closer to the Dwarf holding him to add, "I did cop a feel though. That's why he chased me down and jumped on me. Wanted to finish what I started."

"Liar! I would never touch a worm like you!"

"That's not what you were whispering to me a few minutes ago…"

"You lying, miserable, Elf-like—"

"Enough!" interrupted the Dwarf in armor before Bilbo could finish his curse. But from the highly offended expression the thief was wearing, he figured the Dwarf got the gist of it.

"Enough," repeated the armed Dwarf as he settled Bilbo to the floor but didn't release his collar. "I don't care who started what. You're _both_ under arrest for disturbing the merchants and causing a scene!"

Bilbo felt the ground crumble beneath him. "What?! But I didn't do anything wrong—!"

The Dwarf ignored the Hobbit and threw him to his free companion without a care. "Save your whining for your trial. You're going to prison for now."

* * *

"This," the thieving Dwarf declared later after they were both thrown into separate cells across from one another, "is all your fault."

Bilbo looked up from the lock he was examining to glare at the Dwarf leaning against his bars with his arms hanging through the gaps. "Excuse me? _You_ are the one who robbed _me_!"

"You were standing in the middle of the gates with your mouth hanging open. It was a clear invitation to anyone that you wanted your coin purse taken," the thief explained in the same tone an adult would use on a child. "You can't blame me for taking you up on that offer."

Bilbo felt his irritation deepen. "You… You are quite possibly the most ridiculous Dwarf I have ever met!"

"That could be true," the thief agreed, nodding his head as the corner of his lips pulled back into a smirk. "I'm most certainly the most handsome one you'll ever meet."

Bilbo squinted and took in the thief fully for the first time. Ignoring his ridiculous hairstyle and braided eyebrows, he realized that the thief _could_ pass as attractive even by his Hobbit standards. The Dwarf had a large nose and broad shoulders and light green eyes that reminded him of the leaves in summer when the sunlight hit them. His waist and hips were a bit too lean for his taste, but he had freckles and long fingers, and Bilbo could admit that those were traits he had always admired.

Not that Bilbo was about to tell _that_ to the Dwarf.

"I like your beard," he said, making the thief smirk until he added, "is it real?"

The thief's smirk transformed into a scowl. "What? What kind of question is _that_?"

"What? I'm simply asking if your beard is fake like those animal skins that Men sometimes wear on their heads," the Hobbit explained, deliberately widening his eyes. "I mean, it certainly looks ragged and dirty enough to pass as the fur of a fox or a weasel or maybe even a squirrel…"

The offended Dwarf stared at him for a moment before his jaw dropped and his eyes went wide. "You… You're lying!"

"And? What are you going to do about it?" he retorted, sticking his tongue out at the other. "We're already in prison, fool."

The thief simply kept staring at him. "What's your name?"

The Hobbit blinked, taken back by the sudden question. "Bilbo Baggins. You?"

"Nori son of Riika," the Dwarf replied, still staring at him with a look he could not place.

Bilbo wrinkled his nose. "Isn't that a female name? I thought Dwarves took on the name of their same-sex parent."

"Aye, but I'm a bastard. No da to claim parentage to," Nori replied simply, looking unfazed by his status as a bastard son.

"Oh. Is that why you're a thief?"

Nori raised one of his brows that were braided up into his hair. "What? What does that have to do with anything?"

"Well, in the cities of Men, bastard children are usually shunned and can only get work as pickpockets or ladies of the night," he explained. "Does it not work the same here?"

The Dwarf snorted. "I suppose for the nobles there might be a scandal if a bastard is born, but no one cares among the lower classes. Children are precious and few so no one is gonna deny you work just 'cuz your ma can't recall who she spent the night with."

"Oh." Bilbo wiggled his toes as he thought over that new bit of information. Since the exile, Hobbits didn't have anything like social classes or a caste system like other races, so it was always difficult for him to understand the idea of birth dictating your place in life. For Hobbits, it was your character and actions that made a name for you; not who your parents were or your family name.

"You Dwarves are very strange," he decided, nodding his head, "but at least you're not as bad as Men."

"What about Elves?" the thief asked, wagging his ridiculous eyebrows.

"Depends on the Elves," he replied, thinking over the question. "The Elves of Rivendell are acceptable but the others are too involved in their trees and themselves. I don't like them very much."

Nori snorted before dissolving into a chuckle. "You're funny. What is a funny little Hobbit doing here in the Lonely Mountain?"

Bilbo felt his good humor die as he recalled his mission that was now compromised. Sighing, he leaned against the wall behind him and slid down until he hit the floor. "I came here looking for help. Thanks to you, I'm now unsure I'll be able to complete that task."

"What do you need help for?" the Dwarf asked, tilting his head to the side.

He glanced at Nori and then leaned his head to the side against the bars of his cell. "What do you know about my people?"

"You're nomads, right?" Nori said, scratching his cheek. "I've heard of your kind visiting cities of Men before, but I didn't know you traveled so far out east. I've never seen a Hobbit in Erebor before."

"We go wherever there is work and safety," he explained quietly. "But yes, we usually stick closer to the west. It's where our home is…"

"Your home?"

"The Shire," he said, and the name tasted bittersweet on his lips. "That was our land, our kingdom, before it was taken by the dread dragon Smaug nearly a hundred years ago."

Nori's frown deepened. "I didn't know that such a thing had happened to the Hobbits. Why don't you all fight to take it back?"

"We are not built for war," he explained, turning his head slightly to meet the thief's eyes through the bars. "We would never survive alone against such a creature like Smaug. That is why I came here; to buy soldiers that will help us reclaim the Shire."

"Then the money I took from you…"

"Was part of it but not all of it," he confirmed, nodding his head. "The rest of it is in my bag that the guards confiscated."

Nori did not move for a long time. As Bilbo watched, a shadow fell over his green eyes until they resembled the murky bottom of a swamp. It was the only reaction the Dwarf allowed himself to show, and he mentally applauded the thief for his self-control. That was quite a feat for one whose race was known for their intense emotions and brutal honesty.

"I'm not angry at you," Bilbo added, feeling a stab of sympathy for his new cellmate. "I was at first but not anymore. Now I'm just worried that I won't get the money back. Do you think the guards will return it to me later?"

Nori swallowed, and shrugged one of his shoulders as he refused to meet the Hobbit's eyes. "I don't know. I don't know what's going to happen to us now."

Bilbo sighed, and banged his head back against the cold stone walls. "I was afraid of that."


	3. Act I: The Nomad - Chapter Three

Disclaimer: I do not own any familiar characters/settings/plot featured in this story. They all belong to (most likely rolling in his grave) **J.R.R. Tolkien**.

* * *

**A**ct **I**: The **N**omad

**C**hapter **T**hree

* * *

Bilbo awoke to the sound of his cell door being jerked open.

"Let's go, halfling," ordered a guard as he lifted the dazed Hobbit to his feet, and then marched him out of the cell. Behind him Nori was also being dragged out of his cell by another guard. Together they were marched down a long hall built of stone and into a room where a positively ancient looking Dwarf sat behind a large marble desk piled with books.

The Dwarf looked over his silver framed spectacles as the two criminals were forced before him. "Are these the two from the disturbance in the Copper District?" he asked with a voice that came from the stone themselves.

"Aye, sir, these are the ones," replied the guard who was holding Nori by the bicep.

The Dwarf nodded as he studied the two prisoners. Bilbo studied him in return, and tried his best to take in every detail. He was a very old Dwarf with skin as brown as tree bark and as wrinkled as a piece of parchment. His hair was still thick but completely white, and braided into tight and tiny little braids against his skull before being gathered at the back of his head in a high ponytail where the rest of the braids could fall down his back. In contrast to his elaborate hairstyle, his long beard was set in a single, thick braid that fell to his knees like bound rope. His eyes were pure black and his nose large and forehead wide, and there was something altogether familiar about him that Bilbo just could not place.

"What is a halfling doing here?" the Dwarf finally asked, meeting Bilbo's eyes and holding his stare without flinching. "Your kind does not usually wander so far past the Misty Mountains."

"My kind go where we must to survive," he returned evenly, still studying the Dwarf and taking note of an old scar across his sharp cheekbone.

The old Dwarf hummed, and switched his gaze to the bored looking Nori. "I thought I told you to behave yourself, Nori."

"And I thought I told you not to ask for the impossible, Fundin," the thief replied, studying his nails and blatantly ignoring the elder male.

Fundin 'tsked' and leaned back into his seat. "Insolent little brat. I should have you whipped and your beard shaved off."

Bilbo gasped in shock at the cruel threat, but Nori simply laughed as if it was the greatest joke he had ever heard. "We both know that is beyond your power," the thief said, bearing his teeth in a smile that looked more mean than friendly. "You are no longer the Minister of War, remember? Or did you forget that in your old age?"

In response to his words, the guard holding Nori smacked him on the back of the head. The thief hissed and flinched but didn't fall from the hard blow. He growled something in Khuzdûl that had the guard rearing up to smack him again, only to be stopped by a quiet command from Fundin.

"Enough," ordered the old Dwarf, leveling a glare on his subordinate. "We do not needlessly beat our prisoners. Understand?"

The guard bowed his head in acknowledgment and replied in low Khuzdûl.

"Good." Fundin turned his dark eyes back to Bilbo. "Now, halfling, I would like to hear why you and this fool here were causing such a ruckus in the Ebony District. I have two different stories of the event and I would like to find out which one is true."

"I stole his money," Nori replied before Bilbo could get a chance to answer. "I stole it and took off and he tracked me down in order to get it back. He tackled me and we argued and that's when the guards arrested us."

Bilbo turned to stare at the Dwarf at his side with his jaw hanging open. Nori ignored him though and simply stared back at Fundin. In return, the old Dwarf raised one eyebrow in obvious surprise.

"Is this true, halfling?" asked Fundin, switching his gaze back to Bilbo.

He nodded slowly; still staring at the thief who was in turn staring at the far wall with a clenched jaw. "Y-Yes…"

"Then we have made an error in arresting you," Fundin declared, looking down to a piece of parchment and stamping it with a seal. "You are free to go. The guard will return your possessions and see you out. Good day."

The guard behind him began to drag him out but Bilbo resisted. "Wait, what about Nori? What's going to happen to him?"

"Never mind about me," Nori drawled, still refusing to look at him. "Just go with the guard, Hobbit."

Fundin nodded in agreement. "His fate is of no concern of yours."

Bilbo scoffed, and twisted his arm back as the guard continued to try and drag him out. "Like hell it's not! He stole from _me_ so his fate is a very big concern of mine!"

Fundin arched a white brow again as the other guards scowled at his rude tone. "Persistent aren't you?" mused the old Dwarf softly. "Very well. Since this is his fourth offense, he is to pay four hundred coins or go to prison for the next four seasons."

The Hobbit hissed and looked to Nori, whose shoulders had grown tense. "Can you… Can you pay that?"

"Of course not. You think I robbed you for fun?" the thief muttered, crossing his arms over his chest in a clearly defensive move.

Bilbo swallowed the lump in his throat as his mind raced for an answer. Even though Nori had committed a crime, he couldn't leave the Dwarf behind to such a fate. Not when he knew better than anyone in the room _why_ Nori did what he did.

_Sorry Uncle but I have to do what is right!_

"T-Then I'll pay it! I'll pay his due!" he said before the guard could manage to drag him through the door.

At his proclamation, Fundin's eyes widened behind his spectacles while Nori's head snapped around to face him. Even the guards turned to stare at him with obvious surprise at his offer.

"What?!" squawked the thief.

"Do you understand what you are asking?" questioned Fundin, staring at him without blinking over the rim of his glasses.

Bilbo raised his chin stubbornly. "Yes, sir, I do."

"Are you sure? Because I don't think you do," pushed the Dwarf.

"I understand, damnit! I'm poor, not dumb!" he snapped back, glaring at the older male.

Fundin continued to stare at him with his jet black eyes. He couldn't read what the Dwarf was thinking, but the corner of his mouth was curled up slightly like he wanted to smile but was resisting. Bilbo was again struck by the familiarity of the Dwarf but still couldn't place why.

"Very well. You may pay his bail," the grizzled old Dwarf finally said. "Tróstur, collect his things and then take him to Hethin to fill out the paperwork and pay the fine."

The guard behind Bilbo nodded and then gently steered the Hobbit out the door. Bilbo gave one last look to Fundin—who was still watching him with his sharp eyes and almost-smile—and then to Nori—who looked like Bilbo had just brought his dead puppy back to life—before he was finally dragged out of the room for good.

* * *

It took an hour in all to collect his things, fill out the paperwork, and count out the gold coins needed. Bilbo found it all dreadfully boring and a bit painful to watch all that gold be taken away. The Dwarf who dealt with him was patient and polite though, and even mentioned that he should consider exchanging his coins for Erebor currency.

"We'll take your gold and silver either way," the Dwarf added as he examined a coin from Gondor with a critical eye, "and melt it down to make into our own coins, but it will be easier just to use our money."

"Will anyone turn me away for using the money of Men and Elves?" Bilbo questioned with a frown.

The Dwarf scowled a bit but shook his head. "No, we'll accept it but the price might change depending on the metals used in the coins. The Men of Rohan like to add copper to their coins so they generally are worth less here than there. And the Elves like to mix iron and silver together because they're a bunch of fools who shouldn't be allowed around metal to begin with."

He snorted and tried not to laugh. "I understand. I'll get some Erebor coins as soon as possible."

Once the paperwork and money matters had been settled, Bilbo was finally allowed the leave the jailhouse. However the moment he stepped out of the building, he found himself captured and being dragged off yet again. The only difference this time was that it was a thief dragging him off and not a guard.

Nori took him into a small alcove between the jailhouse and another building before rounding on him with a fierce snarl on his face. "Why did you pay my bail? It was none of your concern!" he snapped, green eyes flashing under the torchlight above them.

Bilbo snorted, and stared back at him steadily. "Why did you tell the truth? My fate was certainly none of _your _concern."

The thief flinched. "I…"

"You could have lied and blamed everything on me," the Hobbit continued, never breaking his gaze with the Dwarf, "but you didn't. You took the blame because it was the right thing to do. Just like bailing you out was the right thing to do."

Nori scowled but didn't attempt to argue his point. "What about your people? They sent you here expecting you to get them help!" he said instead. "You can't do that now that you've wasted your money on me!"

He nodded in agreement. "I know. I need to work now to earn back what I spent. But they would understand why I did it. We Hobbits may have lost our home, but we haven't lost our integrity."

The Dwarf still didn't look very pleased by his words. "Where are you planning to go now?"

"The cheapest inn I can find. Do you know of one?"

"Yes, and you'll most likely end up robbed either by the owner or a mugger," Nori muttered, rubbing his jaw. "No, you'll stay with my brothers and me while you look for work."

Bilbo frowned and bit his lower lip. "Um, not to be rude or anything, but shouldn't you check with them first?"

The thief waved his concern away. "They won't mind. Dori will feel obligated once he finds out what you did for me, and Ori will be thrilled to meet someone other than a Dwarrow or Man."

Bilbo leaned back on his heels and studied the Dwarf. Though it wasn't in his nature to go along with strangers, something in his gut was telling him that he could trust Nori. The Dwarf was a thief and a liar and obviously had a crooked past, but he didn't seem like the bad sort. Not when he took responsibility for his crime in order to get Bilbo out of jail. Someone without morals would never do that for a stranger.

"You know, you like to come off as aloof and cold, but I can tell that you're actually a nice person," he commented, smiling at the thief.

"I-I'm not nice!" Nori sputtered, his cheeks turning a shade of pink that clashed horribly with his hair color.

"You're blushing," he revealed with glee.

Nori's coloring descended into shades of red never seen before. "Shut up!"

* * *

Nori seemed to live in one of the outer districts that sat close to the gates of the city. It was called the Tin District and it was one of the seven outer districts that acted as pillars for the rest of the city. It also housed much of the lower class of Dwarves.

"Above us are the six districts that house the guilds of the city. Then built on top of that are the five districts of the armies," he explained to Bilbo as he led them through the busy streets. "Above them are the four districts of the lesser nobles while the third districts hold the higher ranking nobles and important places that no one really cares about. The Second Level holds the palace, the throne room, and the grand hall. Finally at the very top sits the imperial treasury of Erebor."

"What about below? Don't you dig beneath the mountain?" the Hobbit wondered as he tried his best not to get his toes stomped on by passing Dwarves.

"Of course we do. Where do you think we got all this wealth?" Nori scoffed, rolling his eyes. "Below us are the mines and tombs and the main prison. Nothing very interesting."

Bilbo disagreed but he didn't say anything. "What are the seven districts called?"

"Tin, Copper, Billon, Brass, Lead, Aluminum, Indium," the Dwarf listed easily as he sidestepped a group of giggling children chasing each other. "The six districts above us are called Ebony, Garnet, Jasper, Amber, Quartz, and Malachite."

"I'm sensing a theme here," he commented dryly.

Nori smirked and nodded. "Yes, we Dwarrows are not subtle. The higher you get, the more important the rank. Naturally we show that through the names."

"Does that mean the First Level is named Mithril?"

"Correct. The second is called Diamond and Electrum. Third Level Ruby, Sapphire, and Emerald. The fourth Opal, Pearl, Beryl, and Jade. The Fifth Level Iron, Steel, Silver, Gold, and Bronze."

"Why is the Second Level the only one named after both a metal and a gem?" he wondered, raising his brows.

"Because Durin's Sons are meant to be both," the thief answered vaguely as they came to a stop in front of a modest home built of the same dark blue stone as the rest of the district. Nori walked up to the door and unlocked it and waved for Bilbo to follow him into the building.

Inside, Bilbo found it to be simple but warm and lovingly decorated with sketches of various Dwarves and places. There was a large fireplace to one side and what looked like a kitchen area complete with a small table where a young Dwarf sat reading. At their entrance, the new Dwarf looked up and went wide eyed before pointing one slender finger at Nori.

"Dori is angry with you," he declared.

Nori scoffed as he began to pull off his coat. "Dori is _always_ angry with me. It's nothing new."

"Yes, but this time he's angry _worried_," the other disputed before he noticed Bilbo lingering at the door. "Who is this?"

"My newest headache," replied Nori as he stalked off further into the home. "Keep him entertained for the moment. I need to talk to dear big brother."

The younger Dwarf frowned slightly at Nori's departing back but still stood up to introduce himself. "Hullo. I'm Ori son of Rikka. I'm Nori's younger brother," the newcomer said, obviously studying Bilbo with his wide green eyes. "Are you one of Nori's… friends?"

Bilbo shook his head as he also studied the Dwarf before him. Now that he was closer, he could see the resemblance between Nori and Ori in their green eyes and jaw line. They even shared the same freckles dusted across their nose and cheeks. "Nope. I'm Bilbo Baggins, the Hobbit your brother robbed and the one who bailed him out of jail."

Ori blanched. "What?!"

"It's a long story," he explained, waving an idle hand. "The idea is a lot more interesting than the actual details."

Ori frowned and drew back slightly; clearly unsure what to make of the Hobbit. The Dwarf was obviously young with round features and the barest hint of facial hair on his chin and jaw. His hair was a few shades darker than Nori's, but just as thick and abundant and pulled back into a messy knot at the back of his head. He was not as tall as his brother nor were his shoulders as wide, but he possessed the same long limbs that hinted at the same frame he would eventually grow into.

"—stop walking away from me!"

Bilbo and Ori turned as one as an older and robust Dwarf came stomping into the room with a scowling Nori behind him. He was the same height as Nori with the same broad shoulders but his limbs were thicker and wider than the thief. His silver hair was pulled back into the most intricate set of braids that Bilbo had ever seen on anyone. He had a large nose and the same cut to his jaw as his siblings and eyes the color of jade. When those green eyes fell on Bilbo, he stopped short and gasped.

"Oh! Why didn't you tell me we have a guest?" he asked Nori, shooting the other Dwarf a small glare.

Nori gave him an exasperated look. "I tried to but you kept talking over me like—"

"Ori, go put on some tea," the older Dwarf ordered, making a shooing gesture with one hand. "Please, make yourself comfortable. I'm Dori son of Riika, and Nori's elder brother."

The Hobbit nodded slowly. "It's nice to meet you. I'm Bilbo Baggins, Nori's newest headache."

"Newest headache?" Dori repeated, shooting another small glare at his brother. "What is he talking about? Nori, what have you been saying to him?"

Nori sighed, and pinched the bridge of his nose. "If you would let me _talk_, then I can explain what's happened."

"I thought you got arrested for robbing Master Baggins?" Ori wondered as he filled an iron kettle with water from a nearby pump.

Dori's eyes nearly popped out of his head. "WHAT?!"

"What did you tell him?" Nori demanded from Bilbo, giving him a dirty look.

Bilbo widened his eyes deliberately in a move that he knew made him look innocent and sweet. "The truth. Why? Were you planning to lie? Because I don't think that would be very smart."

"No, it wouldn't," Dori growled, looming over his younger brother.

"But I don't understand why you would bail my brother out of jail if he robbed you," Ori added as he set the kettle to boil over the fire. He looked altogether calm over the fact that one of his brothers had been arrested while the other was plotting out a murder with his eyes alone. "Wouldn't it be more sensible to leave him in jail?"

"Wait, you bailed him out?" Dori repeated, cutting into the conversation yet again. Bilbo was beginning to understand Nori's exasperation. "Why?"

"He told the guards the truth and then took responsibility for his actions," the Hobbit explained simply, shrugging. "It was only fair that I bail him out. Leaving him to rot in prison for four seasons wasn't right."

Dori blinked rapidly, and then said something in Khuzdûl to Nori. The younger Dwarf replied in kind before being interrupted yet again by his older brother. Next Ori spoke up in their mother tongue to which Nori nodded and began speaking once more in their guttural language. When he was finally done speaking, all three brothers turned as one to stare at the Hobbit with their piercing green eyes.

_Creeeepy_, he thought to himself, scratching the back of his knee with his bare toes. Though their eye colors were different shades of green, they were all shaped the same and possessed the same intensity. _Veeerrry creepy._

"Master Baggins, you have my thanks for helping my simpleton of a brother," Dori said in Westron, shooting a side glare at said brother. "You may stay with us for as long as you need."

Bilbo blinked a few times, unsure what to make of the Dwarf's words. "Uhm, you're welcome. It was the least I could do after he got me out of jail. Thank you for allowing me to stay in your home. I promise not to be a burden."

Dori's eyes widened before they melted like butter sitting in the sun. Bilbo decided that it was a rather disturbing look to have directed at him.

"You are not a burden on us," the oldest brother reassured in a gentle tone that one would use on terrified children. "Ori, would you mind sharing your room with Master Baggins?"

Ori shrugged. "Sure. I don't mind."

"Wonderful. Please show him where he can put his things," Dori requested, shifting his gaze back to Nori. "Your brother and I need to have a… private discussion."

In reply, Nori made a face at him but didn't argue with his elder sibling.

Ori nodded, and then jerked his chin to the door. "Come along, Master Baggins. My room is right through here."

Bilbo followed the young Dwarf further into the home and into a small hall that led to two doors. Ori opened the one to the far right and walked in with the Hobbit following. Inside was a small room with a single bed, a small table, and a bookcase that was crammed full of books. Bilbo immediately zoned in on the books and picked one out without any shame.

"Wow, this is amazing," he said, skimming through the text of Khuzdûl gently. "Have you read them all?"

Ori nodded slowly as he watched the Hobbit with a strange look on his face. "Yes, of course. Do you… Do you like books too?"

"I _love_ to read," Bilbo said with genuine passion. He rubbed the corner of a paper lovingly between his fingers and marveled over how smooth and thick it was. "My father used to tell me stories when we traveled and my mother always helped me with my letters. When I grew older, I even began to steal some books just to have something to read. Nothing very valuable, of course, but still costly enough that I couldn't afford them. I still have most of them."

"Oh." Ori pursued his lips; looking unsure what to make of Bilbo's words. He ignored the Dwarf and studied the alien letters before him carefully. He couldn't read a word of it, of course, but he did so enjoy studying the arches and slashes of the letters. Language—in any form—had always fascinated him. In another lifetime, he was sure he would have been a scribe who translated stories and poems into other languages. One of his fondest memories was learning Sindarin from an Elf he had met in Lothlórien.

"I have some books in Westron if you would like to read one," offered Ori.

He looked up and blinked rapidly in surprise. "Really? You wouldn't mind?"

The young Dwarf shook his head as a small smile tugged at his lips. "No, I wouldn't mind. I love to read too and I rarely get to share my books with others. Not many people care about it in these parts."

Bilbo could understand. Learning to read and write tended to take a backseat to more important matters like finding food or shelter. "I would love to read one of your books. In turn, you can read some of mind if you like. Most of them are written by Men or Elves though…"

Ori's face lit up like a firework in the night sky. "I would love to read one of your books! I rarely get a chance to read the work of Men or Elves! Which city did you get them from? Are they very different from each other? Are they written in the same style? Which one do you like best?"

Bilbo was a bit taken back by the sudden storm of questions, but he got over it quickly enough. Opening his pack, he dug out some of his most beloved stories, and allowed the young Dwarf to look through them. "Most of them are based on legends but I have a few on language and history," he explained. "Those are a bit harder to get so I don't have as many as I would like."

Ori shook his head fiercely; knocking some of his thick hair loose from its knot and into his round face. "No, no I love it! Most of the time I have to read books on history and tradition and ethics; I rarely get a chance to read simple stories. This will be a nice change."

"Why do you read so many books? Are you a scribe?" he wondered as he made himself comfortable on the ground with his companion and their books.

"Uh-huh. I'm an apprentice at the moment but I'll become a journeyman this season if I pass the test," the young Dwarf explained as he flipped through one of Bilbo's books.

Bilbo felt a sting of envy that he quickly pushed away. He had no right to be jealous of Ori. It was hardly his fault that the Hobbit wasn't able to become a scribe. "Good for you. Maybe reading some foreign books will give you an edge in the test."

Ori gave him a small crooked smile that reminded him of Nori. "Maybe. They do like us to be well-rounded on all subjects. I've tried my best to get books on other races and places but they can be… expensive."

He nodded in understanding. "Is there any particular subject they want you to be skilled in? Or any subject that is rare and lacking in information? Because I might have a book on it that could help you."

The young Dwarf seemed to think hard for a moment as he traced the worn leather cover of one of the books. "I suppose anything on Elves would give me an edge. Our strained relationship with them makes it hard to get the correct information I need. It doesn't help either that most of the history we share with them has been changed or lost."

"You wouldn't get marked off for that? I know how some of you Dwarves feel about Elves," he questioned, raising his brows.

"I don't think so. I'd be called names and mocked but the masters would see my knowledge as a gain for them," Ori replied, running his tongue over his teeth in thought. "They need information on Elves, you see, but they don't want to actually go out and learn it themselves. Having someone else do that for them would be a great relief and advantage."

Bilbo grinned. "Perfect! Then I can teach you everything I know about them."

Ori blinked a few times as he stared at the Hobbit. "Do you know a lot about Elves?"

"Somewhat. I've lived among them for most of my life," he explained, rubbing his ankle with his thumb. "I've mostly lived in Rivendell but I've stayed in Lothlórien and Mirkwood a few times. Out of all of them I like Rivendell the best since Lord Elrond is so kind and welcoming. Lady Galadriel is kind too, of course, but she's also a bit scary. She's just so beautiful and powerful that it hurts to look at her sometimes. The Elvenking is too cold for me to like. He's also very dramatic and likes to whip his cloak around like he's putting on a performance or something. I think he should have been a bard instead of a king."

Ori stared at him for a moment longer before breaking out into laughter. "Y-You… You're really honest!"

"Why would I lie when the truth is so much more interesting?" he replied, smirking as he watched the younger Dwarf regain control of himself. "I only lie if I have to, but most of the time I have no need."

"I'll keep that in mind," the scribe-in-training giggled. "Y-You know a lot about Elves. Would you really teach me what you know?"

"I wouldn't have offered if I didn't intend to," the Hobbit said, rolling his eyes. "I can even teach you to speak Sindarin if you like. I'm not so good at reading it and writing it though so we'd be better off skipping that."

Ori's round eyes grew wider. "Wow, you can speak Sindarin? I've never met anyone who could do that. I think the Royal Family are the only Dwarrows that can speak it here."

"It's a complicated language to learn but I think you'll do fine. You already speak two," Bilbo pointed out, leaning back on his hands. "Does that sound fair?"

"It sounds more than fair. I don't know how I can repay you for doing this for me," Ori said, his voice softening a fraction.

Bilbo scoffed and rolled his eyes. "You and your brothers are letting me stay in your home. Sharing my knowledge is the least I can do. Shall we get started now? Since I have anything better to do at the moment."

Ori studied him for a moment with his light green eyes before nodding firmly. "Yes, please. Teach me everything you know."


	4. Act I: The Nomad - Chapter Four

Disclaimer: I do not own any familiar characters/settings/plot featured in this story. They all belong to (most likely rolling in his grave) **J.R.R. Tolkien**.

* * *

**A**ct **I**: The **N**omad

**C**hapter **F**our

* * *

Bilbo spent the next few hours with Ori going over the many misinterpretations that Dwarves believed about Elves. Shockingly, not everything Ori knew of Elves was complete bullshit, and they were able to get through the list fairly quickly. Once done they agreed to take a break and returned to the kitchen where they had left Dori and Nori to their private conversation.

"Still alive then?" Ori commented when he spotted Nori sitting at the table with Dori. On the table between them was a rainbow mess of yarns and threads that seemed to have no end or beginning.

Nori grunted as he methodically unwound a bright green thread from a maroon piece. Across from him, Dori looked up from his own pile of blue string and gave them both a wide smile.

"Finally decided to join us? Wonderful. Master Baggins, are you hungry? Would you care for something to eat? Perhaps some tea?" the Dwarf asked, setting down his pile of yarn.

"I won't say no to a cup of tea," Bilbo admitted as he rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. "All that talking has made my throat dry."

"Bilbo is helping me prepare for my exam by teaching me about Elves," Ori added as he moved to help his elder brother with the tea. "He's lived with them so he knows their customs quite well."

"How complicated is it to know that they eat leaves and listen to music that sounds like a harp being tuned?" Nori muttered to himself.

Bilbo rolled his eyes as he took a seat next to the thief. "They do more than just that you know."

Nori nodded without looking away from his task. "Right. They also write sad poems about their hair and the weather."

The Hobbit rolled his eyes yet again.

"So you said you need to look for work, right?" asked the thief as he began to unravel a yellow piece of yarn from a red piece.

He nodded as he watched the Dwarf's nimble fingers work. "Yes, I need to find work as soon as possible to make up for the money I spent."

"Do you have a craft then? Or any special skills?" Dori wondered.

Bilbo pursed his lips as he went over all the skills he had before settling on the one he used most often. "I suppose by trade I would be considered a healer."

Nori finally looked up from his bits of string to give the Hobbit next to him a judging look with his eyebrows. "How did someone like _you_ ever become a healer?"

Bilbo scowled, feeling greatly offended. He didn't appreciate being questioned by those ridiculous eyebrows. "I trained under an experienced healer _obviously_. How else would I become a healer?"

"I think what my foolish brother meant was _why _did you choose such a trade?" Dori clarified as he finished preparing the tea. "Becoming a healer takes a lot of time and dedication."

"Not to mention money," Nori added with a smirk.

"Well, my mother was forced to become a healer after we lost our home, and she trained me in her craft until her death," the Hobbit explained, beginning to unravel his own bit of brown and white knots. "After that I learned what I could from other healers I met wherever we were living at the time. My skills are decent enough, but I'm sure I lack a lot of the basic skills as I was not correctly trained."

Dori nodded slowly as he and Ori brought the tea and cups to the table. "I see. Well, I know of a few clinics that you could apply at, but first you must pay a visit to the Ministry of Foreign Affairs. They will need to give you a pass that marks you as a visiting resident. With that you will be able to get a job."

Bilbo frowned, and accepted the chipped clay mug handed to him by Ori. "That's strange. The Dwarves in the Blue Mountains never made me go through that."

"The Dwarrows in the Blue Mountain are _colonies_ from broken Dwarrow kingdoms. Erebor is the richest _nation_ among the Dwarrow kingdoms," Nori pointed out, rolling his eyes and stealing a cup from Dori. "Of course our laws and customs are a bit more complicated."

"Fine. Where would this ministry be then?" he snapped back.

"It's on the Fourth Level in the Jade District," Ori replied. "I can take you there tomorrow after breakfast."

"What about your training?"

"I don't start until noon so I have time," the Dwarf reassured, giving him a small smile that made his eyes crinkle at the corners. "Dori has to go to work though and Nori will just get in trouble if he goes up there."

"Hey!" protested the troublemaker. "I can go a day without making trouble!"

"It doesn't count if you don't get caught," Dori deadpanned, staring at his brother knowingly over the rim of his cup.

Ori and Bilbo snorted in unison.

"I didn't take you for a healer," Ori commented as Nori began to mutter threats and curses under his breath. "I thought maybe you were a scribe like me."

He shook his head, and steadily ignored the bitter sting to his heart. "No, no scribe. Just another healer."

"Well, a healer is a good trade. You're sure to find work in one of the clinics here," Dori assured, tapping his fingers lightly against the side of his red mug. "And if not, we'll help you find a job in something else. You will get work one way or another."

Bilbo didn't doubt that. If there was one skill his people had perfected in their ruin, it was surviving in foreign and hostile lands.

* * *

The next day Ori led Bilbo through the busy streets of Erebor to a staircase so large and grand that it made the staircases in Rivendell look cheap and pathetic. It was made up of a dark green stone that held veins of blue and white running through them. Sadly, it was also a long staircase, and so they spent more time than he cared for simply climbing it to get to the next level.

When they finally arrived to the next level of the city, Ori led him through the maze of streets and to a building composed of a muggy red stone that he didn't recognize. It was guarded by two heavily armed Dwarves, who watched them without blinking but did not stop them from entering the abode. As they passed by, Bilbo realized that their armor and uniforms were different from the guards that had arrested him the day before.

_Perhaps they have different units of soldiers_, he mused, following Ori through the massive doors and up yet another flight of stairs. When they finally reached the top, they found themselves in a massive circular chamber that was filled with various Dwarves in fine clothes and equally fine furniture. None of them paid much attention to the two newcomers until Ori went up to one and quietly spoke to him in Khuzdûl.

The Dwarf—who was wearing far too much gold in Bilbo's opinion, and smelt like a cross between wax and ale—sniffed and slowly looked Ori up and down. As he took in the scribe's patched clothes and worn boots, his sneer grew wider and uglier. Finally he spoke up in Khuzdûl and made a shooing gesture with one hand that had Ori's shoulders dropping.

Bilbo frowned as the young Dwarf walked back to him in a dejected slump. "What's wrong? What did he say to you?"

"He said that you need to make an appointment before they'll consider your request," Ori replied, avoiding Bilbo's eyes. "He also said that it will take a season or two before they get to you because they have more important matters to attend to."

Bilbo felt his jaw drop to his chest. "_What_?! A season or more? I don't have that kind of time! My clan is waiting on me!"

Ori flinched, and seemed to sag into his frayed gray scarf. "I'm sorry, Bilbo."

"It's not your fault," he consoled as he leveled a glare at the pompous Dwarf standing a few feet away. "It's _his_."

Then, before Ori could reply, the Hobbit marched over to the unknown Dwarf. He knew, vaguely, that he should calm down but his anxiety over making up the money he had spent was rising with every hour. He had come too far and was too close to finally achieving his task to be thwarted by one snobby Dwarf.

"Excuse me," he said, calling the Dwarf's attention and gaining a few others as well, "I'm here to apply for a pass that will allow me to work in the kingdom. Who do I speak to over this?"

The Dwarf raised a dark brow at him as his lips began to curl into yet another nasty sneer. "As I told your _friend_ a moment ago, your request will be heard after more important matters are seen to—"

"This _is_ important!" Bilbo snapped, interrupting the other without a care to how rude he was being. He was sure his father would be pulling his hair out if he could hear Bilbo now, but he was equally sure his mother would have been nodding in approval. Sometimes manners just had to be discarded.

"I need to get a job in order to survive here," he added before the Dwarf could speak up. "That may not seem very important to _you_, but it is certainly a big concern to my family and I!"

At that point, quite a few of the other occupants were staring at the two of them and whispering to each other. Bilbo ignored them and watched as the Dwarf in front of him turned from red to maroon before finally settling on purple. None of the colors were very flattering against his green and yellow attire.

"You miserable little wretch—!" the Dwarf began to snarl before he was interrupted by a sharp soprano.

"What is going on in here?"

The Dwarf looked over Bilbo's head and then turned so white that the Hobbit was certain he was about to faint. "Lady Súna!"

Bilbo turned around and found a newcomer gliding over to them. It was a female Dwarf wearing a dark red dress that hugged her frame tightly with silver lace. Like most of her kind, she was adorned in silver jewelry and rubies of various sizes. Bilbo found her—as he did with most females of any race—to be very beautiful even with the thick beard taking up most of her jaw. Her hair was a light shade of gold and braided back into thick loops on the back of her head before falling down her back like a curtain of morning sunshine. Her skin was a smooth ivory and her eyes wide and dark brown, and framed by thick and long lashes. With her strong jaw and round hips, she was the perfect example of a classical Dwarven beauty.

She also, Bilbo noted, made every other Dwarf in the room tense up like a pack of rabbits when a wolf appeared.

The female looked over Bilbo in one quick glance before she turned to the Dwarf and began to speak in Khuzdûl. To his surprise, he recognized her rolling vowels and clipped accent as one from the Blue Mountains. In response to whatever she had said, the snobby Dwarf pointed to Bilbo and replied in the same language before making a hand motion that he did not recognize. Once he was done speaking, the female Dwarf turned her dark eyes back to the Hobbit.

"Greetings," she said in clear Westron. "I am Súna daughter of Sunnvá. I am in charge of the embassy here. Tell me, what brings a Hobbit to our fair city?"

"I came here to request a temporary pass in order to seek employment during my stay in Erebor," Bilbo replied, straightening his back and meeting the female's wide gaze straight on. Flinching back and cowering would not earn him any good points with a Dwarf; even more so if the one before him was from the Blue Mountains.

A finely trimmed brow went up a fraction. "I see. And your trade?"

"I'm a healer."

The brow went up another inch. "Indeed? Who trained you?"

"I've had many teachers," he replied honestly, thinking back over his life. "Hobbit, Man, Elf, Dwarf—I learned from whoever I could find."

The female's eyebrow remained slightly raised but the rest of her face remained perfectly blank. Keeping her eyes on Bilbo, she spoke again in Khuzdûl. He had no idea what she said, but it made the snobby Dwarf's mouth drop open and his face turn a ruddy red. When he spoke up in what sounded almost like a whine, the female finally turned away from the Hobbit to stare at him. Bilbo could not imagine what the Dwarf read in her expressionless face, but whatever it was, it made him shut his mouth with a snap that echoed through the silent chamber.

With the snobby Dwarf quiet, the female looked back to Bilbo, and gave him a small nod. "Your request has been accepted. Motar here will help you with the contract and see to your pass. Please enjoy your stay in Erebor for as long as you wish."

Then, in a whirl of red silk and gold braids, the beautiful Dwarf sashayed off without another word.

Bilbo watched her go in a daze as Ori snuck up to stand at his side. Around them the Dwarves began to whisper and mutter to one another while casting judging looks at the Hobbit, the snobby Dwarf, and the female that had wandered off. He wasn't quite sure what had happened, but he had a feeling he had missed something rather important.

"What was that?" he asked out loud to Ori as the snobby Dwarf—Motar—stomped off to a nearby stone shelf. Fleetingly, he hoped the Dwarf was getting him a contract and not a sword to gut him with.

"That was Lady Súna, the wife of Lord Glóin, who is a close cousin of the King," Ori answered quietly as he gave Bilbo a look he could not read. "She's also the Minister of Foreign Affairs."

"Oh. I guess that means she's very important then?"

"Well, she's married into the Line of Durin and she runs one of the most important branches in Erebor," Ori listed in exaggeration as he rolled his green eyes, "so yeah, just a little bit."

Bilbo sighed. "I was afraid of that."

* * *

"So was that normal back there?" he asked later after the contract was signed and Bilbo was given a heavy marble block with runes engraved on it and a silky gray tassel attached to the end. It weighed as much as his sword and he had a feeling it would do just as much damage in a fight. Possibly even more if used correctly.

"Was what normal?" Ori said, glancing at him from the corner of his eye.

Bilbo gestured behind him with one hand at the building they were walking away from. "That, that whole female Dwarf in charge thing. I've never seen a female Dwarf in charge of something so important. Is that normal here? Because it wasn't in the Blue Mountains."

Ori tilted his head to the side, and visibly ran his tongue over his teeth in consideration. "Well, by law, Dwarrowdams hold the same rights and freedom as Dwarrows. They can hold a position of power or rule their house, or even join the army if they wish it."

"I'm sensing a 'but' coming in…"

Ori sighed. "But in reality Dwarrowdams rarely do any of those things. Instead they are expected to stay at home and produce children and work on their craft. You see, Dwarrowdams are very rare and few, so they are always very fiercely protected by their kin at all costs. They are kept away from dangerous trades like war and mining, and encouraged to focus on safer trades like crafting jewelry or weaving. They are always heavily guarded from outsiders because it's not unusual for one to be abducted by a desperate Dwarrow or his family. Most dams go along with all of this easily enough because it's just tradition at this point to spend their lives raising their children, caring for their home, and working on their craft."

"So Lady Súna is an oddity then," he translated as he absorbed Ori's words. "Were there objections then when she got her position? I mean, legally she's not doing anything wrong, but if she is going against tradition…"

"There were some objections, but not as much if it had been another lady," the scribe admitted, nodding his head and making his braids bounce. "As a family member of the King, she holds a lot of political power. She also has the support of Princess Dís; the King's younger sister and the Crown Prince's mother. She's another Dwarrowdam who holds a high position and a lot of power."

"I didn't know the King had a sister," he admitted, thinking over what he knew of Erebor. "Actually I didn't even know there _was_ a Crown Prince."

"His name is Fíli son of Vílin," Ori clarified, giving him a crooked smile. "There was a huge uproar when he was named heir a few years ago. Until then, everyone was sure that the King's younger brother, Prince Frerin, would be the Crown Prince. No one thought he would skip over his own brother for his sister's eldest son. Especially since Prince Fíli's father is a commoner."

"Why did he choose Fíli over Frerin? Is this Frerin a bad prince or something?" Bilbo wondered.

Ori's green eyes went wide and he shook his head vehemently. "Oh no, quite the opposite! Prince Frerin is very noble and brave and beloved by everyone in Erebor. Even the Elves of Mirkwood like him, and everyone knows they don't like anyone!"

Bilbo snorted in agreement because he had enough experience with the Mirkwood Elves to know _that_ was certainly true. Sometimes he was pretty sure they didn't even like each other. "Then why didn't the King choose him? Because his popularity makes him a political threat to his own reign?"

"I don't think so. The two are pretty close from what I know," the young Dwarf admitted, shrugging. "No one really knows why he chose Prince Fíli but I do know that Prince Frerin supports his decision. It's no secret that he dotes on his sister's sons obsessively."

"He sounds like a good Dwarf," he complimented while dodging a pair of laughing soldiers who were carelessly swinging their hammers about.

"He is," Ori agreed, nodding his head firmly. "Well, now that you have a pass, you can get a job. Any ideas of where you would like to work?"

"A clinic?" he suggested with a smirk.

The scribe rolled his eyes. "I know _that_. I meant _where_. There's about one clinic on each level but only the Fourth Level and below hire outsiders."

Bilbo hummed as he thought over his options. "Do you know which clinic pays the best?"

The Dwarf narrowed his eyes and ran his tongue over his canines in consideration. "I don't know for sure, but I do know that the Amber District has the best clinic in the whole city. Would you like to check it out?"

He gave a one-shouldered shrug. "Might as well. Not like I have any other options."

* * *

The Amber District was, as its name implied, made up of amber colored rocks that shimmered like liquid fire. The roads were paved in what looked like copper and the buildings were built of marble and stones that ranged from white and yellow to dark orange and gold. It was a bright and cheery district that reminded him of sunlight, and Bilbo instantly decided that it was his new favorite one for that reason alone. As much as he was used to living underground, he was still a Hobbit, and Hobbits were creatures of sunshine. They would never enjoy living in mountains no matter how beautiful said mountain was.

The clinic was located close to the borders of the district that led to the other districts of the city. It was a large and compact building made up of a smooth, white stone that felt rough to the touch. Unlike the embassy, it was much more open with windows as tall as a Man and a massive set of doors that stood open with a line of Khuzdûl chiseled above it. There were no guards at the doors, and the Dwarves inside paid them no mind as they went about their business of caring for their patients. When they asked for the healer in charge, they were directed to an older looking Dwarf attending to a patient in a cot.

"What do you want?" the Dwarf asked in Westron without looking away from the wrist he was bandaging.

Ori cleared his throat and began to speak in Khuzdûl to the unknown Dwarf. As he did, Bilbo took the time to study the stranger curiously. Like most of his kind, he was broad shouldered and stout with a wide nose and a equally wide forehead. Unlike most of his kind though, his gray and white streaked hair was a fuzzy mess that sat untamed to his shoulders. The only sense of order he had was to his beard that was braided into two separate loops down his chest. As Ori finished speaking, the unkempt Dwarf finally finished with his patient, and turned his attention to the two.

"So you're here for a job?" the Dwarf said, staring at Bilbo with light blue eyes hidden under thick and unruly brows.

Bilbo nodded, and held his chin up high as he held the stranger's gaze. "Yes, I am. My name is Bilbo Baggins and I would like to work for this clinic."

The Dwarf narrowed his eyes and slowly looked him up and down. "Hmp. And what use would I have for a skinny little thing like you? What can you do that my own healers couldn't do better?"

"I don't know," he replied honestly. "I don't know what your healers have been trained in or what they deal with. All I know are my own skills and capabilities, and if you give me a chance, then I will show you those skills so you can judge them for yourself."

The Dwarf's bushy brows met his hairline. Bilbo thought he almost looked a bit impressed but he couldn't be sure. As the Dwarf continued to stare at him, he stared straight back and took note of the stranger's face fully for the first time. The healer's pale face was heavily lined and dotted with moles and freckles across his nose and cheekbones. He was not handsome in any sense of the word, but there was something charming about him nonetheless. A sense of life and laughter that showed in the creases and groves of his face. It was a trustworthy face, and it made him relax slightly.

Finally the Dwarf seemed to come to a decision, and nodded his head firmly. "Very well. I will give you three tasks to do. Complete them and I'll hire you. Fail and never bother me again. Deal?"

Bilbo nodded back. "Fair enough. What would you have me do first?"

"Recently there was an accident down in one of the mines. A lot of the miners were injured because of it. I want you to head down there and see if they need any aid," the healer directed, crossing his thick arms over his wide chest.

Bilbo blinked at the odd request, and glanced to Ori, who gave him a useless shrug in reply. "Very well. Where are these miners?"

"Try the Brass District on Level Seven. That's where most of the miners live," suggested the Dwarf.

He nodded, and tried not to scowl too obviously over the lack of useful information. "Anything else?"

"Yes, one more thing," replied the healer, smirking at him. "My name is Óin son of Gróin. Try not to forget it."


	5. Act I: The Nomad - Chapter Five

Disclaimer: I do not own any familiar characters/settings/plot featured in this story. They all belong to (most likely rolling in his grave) **J.R.R. Tolkien**.

* * *

**A**ct **I**: The **N**omad

**C**hapter **F**ive

* * *

"How did I get roped into this again?" Nori asked out loud as he led Bilbo through the streets of the Brass District later that day.

"You robbed me," the Hobbit reminded him patiently as he studied the district around them. It was an interesting section where each building seemed to be built of whatever was at hand at that moment. It was so mismatched and random that he could not find any pattern or reason to anything. Even the roads were paved with different stones intersecting at every corner.

"Why did they build this section with so many different materials?" he asked his guide as he glanced over a building that was built of alabaster, gray marble, and some sort of purple stone he didn't recognize.

Nori rolled his shoulders back in a lazy shrug. "Brass Rats are the poorest lot on this level and quite possibly the proudest in the kingdom. They refuse to accept charity, and scorn those who take handouts. So when shit starts to fall apart around here, they find whatever they can and fix it themselves. Hence the lovely decor before us."

Bilbo thought that was the stupidest idea he had heard all week, and had no problem sharing it. "That's dumb. There's nothing wrong with accepting help from others."

"Yeah, well, I said they were proud, not smart," the Dwarf muttered as he shoved his gloved hands into the pockets of his coat. He eyed the Hobbit standing next to him carefully as he asked, "I take it your people are used to handouts?"

"Of course. When you face the complete annihilation of your race, it's pretty easy to put away things like pride and shame," he confirmed, trying to mask the acid in his words. "The only reason my people still exist is thanks to the pity and kindness of others. That's not a lesson you just forget."

Nori blinked once, and looked away as a small frown pulled at his lips. "I'll try to remember that."

Bilbo nodded absently. "You do that. Now where exactly would these miners be here? At a tavern?"

"Mmm. All miners go to one tavern here called the Stone Bell. We'll probably find the ones you're looking for there," the thief replied. "If not, then we'll at least get some info on where to find them."

The Stone Bell was easy enough to spot as it was made up of various stones and shaped much like a bell. Bilbo found himself a bit disappointed by the lack of creativity considering the rest of the district. Inside looked much the same with mismatched furniture, a cracked bar, and dented chairs. Scattered around the tavern were numerous Dwarves dressed in various attires. To his relief, most of them looked to be mining leathers.

"So how do we approach them?" he asked his companion as he studied the tavern occupants.

"Like this," Nori replied, stepping forward and cupping his hands around his mouth. "Oi! Who here was involved in that mining accident the other day?! I got a healer here looking to help!"

Bilbo smacked his forehead with a groan as most of the tavern turned to stare at the two with mixed reactions. "I should have left you in prison."

"Yeah, you really should have," Nori agreed cheerfully as a group of miners got to their feet and made their way over. Bilbo couldn't help but notice that none of them looked particularly pleased to see him.

"What ya want, outsider?" one of the miners growled as he crossed his thick and scarred arms over his equally wide chest. "Why ya sniffin' around us? Who told ya we needed help?"

The Hobbit shifted slightly and tried his best not to step away from the taller and denser male. Skittishness never won him any points with Dwarves. "Um, I'm trying to get work at one of the clinics and they mentioned the accident. They said if I want to work there then I need to help you lot first."

"Oh, so ya came to use us to better yourself, huh?" sneered another who was as equally wide as his companion. "Pike off, ya little rat! We don't be needin' that kinda help."

Bilbo scowled up at the Dwarf as Nori stirred at his side. The thief took a step forward so that he was slightly between the Hobbit and two Dwarves, and leveled his unblinking green eyes on them. Though he knew Nori didn't mean to offend, Bilbo couldn't help but feel a bit miffed by the protective stance. He was perfectly capable of taking care of himself.

"Yes, I am using you lot to land a job," he told the miners, stepping around Nori and 'accidentally' elbowing the thief in the process, "but I'm also offering my services free of charge. How many clinics offer that?"

The minders still didn't look convinced, but before they could cut him down again, another deep voice spoke up.

"I'll take ya up on that offer."

Bilbo and Nori turned as another miner sitting at a nearby table with his fellows got to his feet. He was dressed in the same worn leathers as the others with a scruffy hat to top it off. He stood as tall as Nori with two brown braids that hung from beneath his hat down his chest. He had no beard, and instead sported a mustache that he somehow managed to twist up at the ends. He had dark eyes and a large nose.

"Bofur!" one of the miners sputtered while his companion gaped at the newcomer. "What are ya doin?!"

"What does it look like? I'm gettin' help for my cousin," the new Dwarf—Bofur—replied as he sashayed over to Bilbo and Nori.

"But he's a bleedin' outsider!" the other yelled, pointing to the Hobbit. Bilbo took a moment to ponder why he felt the need to do so. Did he think that no one could tell who the Dwarf was between him and Nori?

In response, Bofur rolled his eyes. "So? He can still heal can't he? What do I care what he is as long as he fixes Bifur?"

At another table, another Dwarf rose to his feet. "I'm with Bofur on this. I got three cousins with cracked ribs and no coin to get them to a healer. I'll take whatever I can get."

"Traitor!" hissed one of the confrontational miners as he glared at the new Dwarf.

Bofur scowled, and reached over to smack the larger Dwarf on the back of the head. "Oi, enough already! Ya got kin bleedin' out of the head? Or a brother with a mangled hand? No? Then shut ya mouth before I shut it for ya! Ya got no right to be getting prissy when ya ain't got nuthin' to lose!"

Behind him, Nori snorted before dissolving into a chuckle. "Oh, I like this one. Can we keep him?"

The miner scowled and rubbed his head but did not retaliate. Instead, to Bilbo's surprise, he turned around and stomped back to his table in the corner with his comrade following behind like a faithful hound. Bilbo watched them go with wide eyes before turning back to the Dwarf before him.

"Bastards," the miner muttered as he turned back to Bilbo and Nori. When his eyes met Bilbo's, his scowl melted into a grin that made his brown eyes lighten, and brought out two dimples on each cheek. It was a startling smile that made something warm erupt in his chest. Without thinking, Bilbo found himself smiling back at the stranger.

"So, Master Healer, when can ya get started?" the Dwarf asked, rocking back and forth on his heels.

He blinked a few times before offering a hesitant, "Now?"

Bofur's grin grew even wider until all he could see were teeth and dimples. "Wonderful! Follow me then. I got a good lot of patients for ya."

* * *

Bofur, Bilbo found, was not lying when he said he had a good amount of Dwarves for him to look over. The miner ended up taking him to eight different homes that housed at least one injured miner. While some welcomed Bilbo's free service, others proved to be as stubborn and suspicious as the miners from the tavern. If not for Bofur's company and soothing words, then he was positive that he would have had the door slammed in his face before he ever finished introducing himself. Thankfully, most of the injuries were straightforward enough. Broken bones, fractures ribs, and ripped flesh seemed to be the worst of it. He dealt with them the best he could and left directions to the families on how to care for them, and a promise to return throughout the next few weeks to check up on them.

"Why don't you lot accept help?" he later asked the miner as Bofur led him to his own home that housed his injured cousin, Bifur.

Bofur sniffed and raised his chin high into the air. "It's a matter of pride. Just 'cuz we're poor don't mean we can't fend for ourselves. We can get by fine on our own just like everyone else."

"See? Told you they were proud," Nori chirped from Bilbo's side with his arms lazily crossed behind his head.

Bofur grinned, and pivoted around so he could walk backwards and speak to them face to face. "We most certainly are," he agreed, winking at the two. "It's all we got so we have to use it. Get it?"

"So, what, the lives of your families aren't important?" Bilbo questioned sourly, glaring at the miner. "You would risk them over your pride?"

Bofur blinked his brown eyes—the exact shade of the freshly turned earth, Bilbo noted—a few times as he stared at the Hobbit. "Ya don't agree with us. Why?"

"Because he's a Hobbit," Nori replied before the healer could speak up. "They're nomads. No homes to go to so pride is the last thing on their minds."

"Hmm. Is that so?" commented the miner, rubbing one of the ends of his mustache. "Sorry to hear that. Explains why ya here though. Ah, here we go! This is the place."

Bilbo and Nori looked up as one at the maroon and copper abode that Bofur pointed out, and then proceeded to stare. "That color scheme would make my brother cry," the thief commented after a long pause.

"That color scheme is making _me_ want to cry," admitted Bilbo, wincing.

Bofur gave them both a dirty look but the venom was ruined by the twinkle in his eyes. "I didn't choose the colors. It was like that when we moved in."

"Mmm. Which would be from the Blue Mountains, right?" the Hobbit asked as he tore his gaze away from the eyesore. He had to blink a few times as spots danced in front of his vision for a moment.

Bofur blinked a few times himself in obvious surprise. "Aye. How'd ya know that?"

"Your accent," replied the healer, tapping one finger against his lips. "It's not very strong but it's still there. I don't think most Dwarves would notice it."

"But _ya_ did," the miner pointed out, wrinkling his brows.

He shrugged. "I lived in the Blue Mountains for a time so I recognize it." He looked back to the colorful disaster and jerked his chin to it. "Shall we go in now? I would like to meet my patient."

Bofur gave him another look that he couldn't read before setting off for the door with a nod. Bilbo and Nori followed the miner into the multicolored blemish, and found themselves in a rundown but warmly lit home. It was neatly kept and organized with a large kitchen and a small staircase with sharp stone steps. Coming down those steps was a female who stopped short when she saw the three standing there.

She was heavyset with straight black hair that was pinned back in a million tiny braids held together with beads and lace. Her skin was the color of cinnamon and her eyes a deep ebony that reminded him of the sky when there was no moon. Her features were wider and rounder than the Dwarves he had seen so far, and her eyes were slanted up at the outer edges. She wore a loose, shapeless dress the color of sand with lavender and purple patterns stitched into the sleeves and collar. For a long moment she simply stared at them before finally speaking softly in Khuzdûl. Bofur responded in kind, and gestured one hand to Bilbo before pointing up above him. Whatever he said made her relax, and stare at Bilbo with obvious curiosity.

"Hello," Bilbo greeted back, waving two fingers. "I'm Bilbo Baggins. I'm a healer."

"This is Hamide, my brother's wife," Bofur introduced quickly. "I'm afraid she doesn't speak much Westron."

He blinked and looked to Nori for clarification. "I thought all Dwarves could speak Westron. Is that a normal thing there?"

Nori shrugged one shoulder as he stared at the female with hooded green eyes. "Not really. Westron is the surface language so all Dwarves make a point of learning it. Strange that she doesn't know it..."

"Hamide is from Orocarni," Bofur explained simply, giving the other Dwarf an unfriendly smile. "Westron isn't exactly an important language there."

"Orocarni?" Bilbo repeated. "Where is that?"

"In the Eastlands," replied Nori as he looked the female up and down. "That's a very far way to come. What is she doing here?"

"She was captured by slavers and brought here," Bofur said simply, pivoting around so he stood between Hamide and the two like a barrier. "She was freed by Prince Frerin and given citizenship along with a few others. Now any more questions? Or can ya do what ya came here for?"

Bilbo shook his head while Nori rolled his eyes. The thief leaned to the side so he could see past the miner to Hamide, and said something to her in Khuzdûl. Whatever it was had Bofur snorting and Hamide giggling into her hand.

"Pretty words are fine, but if I see ya lay one finger on her then I'm cutting them off," the miner warned with a friendly smile that looked wrong.

Nori gasped and held a hand against his chest. "What kinda Dwarrow do you think I am—"

"The lying, stealing kind," Bilbo filled in helpfully just in case Nori had forgot.

"—that I would touch a married Dwarrowdam?" the thief finished as he obviously widened his eyes. "Rude. Just rude."

Bofur just shook his head, and gestured with one hand for Bilbo to follow him. "Ugh, ya need boots listening to this guy."

The Hobbit sighed in agreement as he followed the miner up the stairs. "Tell me about it. You should have heard the stuff he was sprouting when we first met."

Bofur led them to a small room with a single window where an older Dwarf with black hair threaded with silver sat in bed with his head bandaged. At their entrance, he looked up and glared at them with dark eyes made even darker by the mass of bruises on the left side of his face. His hair and beard were a mess of knots and tangles and his brown skin looked washed out and sickly.

"Get out," he ordered, his voice a low rumble.

"Bifur, I brought ya a healer," Bofur said, completely ignoring the command and waltzing over to the Dwarf. "Say hello to the kind stranger."

"Hello," the Dwarf greeted, nodding to the Hobbit. "Pleased to meet ya. Now get out."

Bofur clucked his tongue, and gently began fluffing Bifur's pillow. "Now don't be like that. Master Healer is here to look ya over free of charge. Isn't that nice of him?"

Bifur simply kept glaring. "No."

"The biggest injury he got was on the head," Bofur told Bilbo, clearly still ignoring the other Dwarf's words. "It was bleeding something fierce and he threw up a few times in the beginning, but he's been good since then."

"Hmm. Have you slept at all in that time?" asked the Hobbit as he carefully moved closer to the growling Dwarf.

"Yes, but not for long. Woke up complainin' 'bout a headache," answered Bofur as he sat at the end of his cousin's bed.

Bifur immediately kicked him off. "I can speak for myself, ya pesky goblin spawn," the Dwarf snapped as Bofur pulled himself off the floor with a pout. "I slept some and woke up feelin' like a blacksmith took up shop in me head."

Bilbo nodded as he studied the Dwarf's eyes before feeling his pulse and counting the beats. Once satisfied, he turned his attention to the bandages and began to unwrap them. When he saw the wound, he clucked his tongue and studied it carefully.

"Does your neck hurt?" he asked Bifur.

The miner grunted. "A bit. Mostly my head."

"And how does the pain feel? Like sharp spikes?" the Hobbit prodded as he gently touched his patient's forehead.

"Mmm. I guess? I can't describe it. Just hurts," mumbled the Dwarf as he leaned slightly into Bilbo's hand.

He nodded, and carefully helped the Dwarf lean back into his bed. "Well, it seems like you don't have a commotion, and I don't think you have to fear any mental terrors. I'm going to give you some mountain daisy and John's wort for the pain. Drink it as a tea and rest for now. That's all you can really do for a head wound. I'll be back tomorrow to check on you."

Bifur grunted as he settled into his cocoon of pillows and quilts and steadily gazed at the Hobbit with the same brown eyes as Bofur. "What's ya name?"

Bilbo blinked a few times, taken back by the random question. "Um, it's Bilbo. Bilbo Baggins."

"Mmm." Bifur continued to stare at him with his bottomless dark eyes. Bilbo could not begin to imagine what he was thinking. "Thank ya for coming. I won't forget this."

"None of us will," added Bofur from the other side of the bed with a smile so wide that all he could see was dimples and hair. "We'll all remember ya kindness, Master Baggins."

Bilbo couldn't decide if that was a good thing or not.

* * *

With his patients attended to and his mission a relative success, Bilbo and Nori decided to return to the clinic to report to Óin. The gruff healer was still, thankfully, at the clinic overseeing his patients. When the duo walked in, he looked over to them, and raised one bushy brow in a silently inquiry.

"I have finished your task and seen to the injured miners," said the Hobbit, lacing his fingers together in front of him and rocking back and forth on his heels. "From what I've seen, they will all most likely make a full recovery."

Óin grunted and dusted his hands as he stood up from where he was rubbing some sort of powder on an unconscious Dwarf's inflamed leg. "Good, good. And their payment?"

Bilbo frowned, and exchanged a confused look with Nori. "Payment? What payment? You mentioned no such thing."

Óin scoffed as he wiped his hands clean with a nearby cloth. "I thought it would be a given. This is a business, not a charity."

"But the miners have no money. That's why they didn't come to a clinic to begin with," he reminded the healer with a scowl.

"Does that mean you're refusing to go back and collect the fees?" the Dwarf questioned calmly, raising his thick brows once more.

Bilbo raised his chin high, and met the healer's eyes without flinching. "That's right. I will not make them pay for my time and services."

Óin nodded firmly and tossed his used rag onto a table. "Good. You've passed your first test."

Bilbo blinked. "What?"

"You heard me. You passed my test."

"I'm not following the thought process here," the Hobbit said, staring at the (possibly insane) Dwarf. "How did you go from asking for money to passing me?"

"It's not that hard, lad. I wasn't testing yours skills but your integrity," the old healer explained simply. "I don't need a healer who only cares about coin working for me. I need one who cares about the well being of his patients."

"Tricky old frog aren't you?" commented Nori with a smirk.

"I try my best to keep up with you infants," Óin replied with his own half smirk.

Bilbo could feel a headache coming on. "So this means I passed your test then, right? Even though what I was being tested on was the exact opposite of what I thought?"

Óin nodded. "Pretty much."

"Great. Wonderful. Am I hired now?"

"Not yet. Come back tomorrow morning for your second trial. We'll see how it goes from there," the healer replied before turning away and going back to his patient with a clear dismissal. Bilbo glared at his back for a moment before he stomped off with a small huff.

"Well. That was fun," commented Nori as he kept up with the Hobbit's quick stride. "What do you think the next test will be?"

"With my luck? Curing the King of a never before seen illness," Bilbo replied dryly.

Nori simply cackled. "Careful what you wish for, ducky. You may just get it."


	6. Act I: The Nomad - Chapter Six

Disclaimer: I do not own any familiar characters/settings/plot featured in this story. They all belong to (most likely rolling in his grave) **J.R.R. Tolkien**.

* * *

**A**ct **I**: The **N**omad

**C**hapter **S**ix

* * *

"How was your day?" greeted Dori when Bilbo and Nori walked through the door that evening. "Did you pass your first trial?"

"Yes. Now I have to return tomorrow for the second test," the Hobbit replied, shrugging out of his coat and hanging it up next to the door.

"He made a lot of new friends among the miners," Nori added as he also pulled off his coat. "Very popular our Hobbit."

Bilbo rolled his eyes while Dori beamed. "Wonderful! Do you know what your second test will be?"

He shook his head. "No. All I was told was to return tomorrow for my next trial."

"You won't believe whose clinic he's walked into either," Nori commented as he cracked his neck. "Óin son of Gróin."

Dori's eyes went wide while his eyebrows met his hairline. "Truly? Ori didn't mention that part."

Nori shrugged. "Probably doesn't know the significance behind the name. Óin isn't as well known as his brother and cousins, and Ori only ever pays vague attention to the nobles."

"Um, is this Óin important?" wondered Bilbo, catching the two brothers' attention.

"In a manner of speaking," replied Dori, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back against his stone table. "Lord Óin, son of Gróin, is a cousin of the King and a direct descendant of Durin the Deathless. He's eighth in line for the throne of Erebor and the elder brother of Lord Glóin."

Bilbo wrinkled his brow in thought at the familiar name before he finally recalled where he had heard it. "Glóin, that's Lady Súna's husband—wait, _eighth_ in line for the throne?! He's that high up in the hierarchy? Then what the hell is he doing working in a clinic?!"

"I'm gonna go with healing people," replied Nori, raising one of his ridiculous eyebrows.

"He doesn't seem to care much for titles and nobility," explained Dori, shrugging his expansive shoulders. "In fact, as far as fame goes, he pretty much keeps to himself. His younger brother and cousins are much more well known by the public."

"Oh." Bilbo took a moment to picture the old healer dressed as some of the noble Dwarves he had seen so far, and found that he couldn't do it. "I can believe that. He didn't seem to care much for appearances."

"Speaking of appearances, you need to bathe tonight. You're starting to smell," Dori commented, wrinkling his wide nose.

Bilbo stared at the Dwarf. He wasn't quite sure if he felt insulted or not. "Excuse me?"

"Did I stutter?" the Dwarf wondered, raising a finely groomed silver eyebrow. "You're going to the bath house with us tonight once Ori returns."

"What the hell is a bath house?" the Hobbit wondered, still staring at the older male for a clearer explanation.

Dori's green eyes widened while Nori snorted from the sidelines. "Oh boy."

* * *

A bath house, as Bilbo later learned, was a large building in the center of the district that was open to all citizens to bathe and clean themselves. It separated males from females but other than that had no restrictions. The building was filled with large and deep marble tubs built straight into the ground; each tub filled to the brim with steaming hot water that glimmered a turquoise color thanks to the blue and green tiles. Amongst the nude and unashamed Dwarves, Bilbo could think of only one question to ask.

"How did they get the water to stay hot?" he asked his companions as he followed them down the halls.

"Aqueducts," replied Ori as he walked next to the Hobbit. "The mountain has a great deal of hot springs so we use the aqueducts to move it to the bath houses."

"That sounds like a lot of trouble. Why not just use cold water?" he wondered.

Ahead of him, Nori scoffed, and turned his head slightly to give the Hobbit a disbelieving look. "Because bathing in cold water makes you _sick_. Shouldn't a healer know that?"

Bilbo sniffed, and raised his chin in challenge. "Why would I? The people I treat don't bathe regularly or even have access to _clean_ water."

Nori had nothing to say to that.

They ended up in an empty tub that sat in the far back of the building away from most of the others. Once in the room, Bilbo realized that there were marble benches and tables and shelves built into the room. Their purpose soon became obvious as his companions proceeded to dump their packs of clothes and bathing supplies on the tables, and began to strip down until they were nude as the day they were born. Bilbo couldn't help but raise his brows when he saw what was underneath.

"You all have tattoos," he realized with clear surprise.

Nori snorted as he began the long task of undoing his elaborate braids. "Of course we do. We're _Dwarrows_."

"Well, yeah, that's a given, but what do they mean?" Bilbo pressed as he studied the blocky black patterns and elegant Khuzdûl painted across their backs and shoulders.

Ori shrugged as Dori began to unravel his braids for him. "It can mean a lot of stuff. Some are about clans and certain family members, and others stand for great battles or conquests. It just depends on the Dwarrow."

Bilbo nodded slowly; his eyes still fixed on the intricate pattern tracing down Nori's muscled back. It took up the complete left side of his body and trailed all the way down to his lower back. "That's amazing. Did it hurt a lot to get them?"

"Yes, but the pain is worth it," replied Dori as he gently untangled his baby brother's hair. He glanced over Ori's head and met Bilbo's eyes. "Do Hobbits carry tattoos?"

He snorted at the idea and shook his head. "Oh no. They're considered indecent. Not to mention expensive. If anyone did get one then it would be small and easy to hide in order to avoid shame."

"Your people sound boring," Nori declared bluntly, shaking his hair free until it tumbled down his back and to the end of his thighs like a thick curtain of red and gold.

"We have our hang ups," he admitted as he began to pull off his own clothes. "We can be prickly about silly things, but on a whole we're easy enough to understand. Good food and good friends are all we want in life. We don't care about wealth or power or fame. The simple things are good enough for us."

The three brothers shared a look that Bilbo couldn't read but did not mock his words. Instead, they went silent as the Hobbit pulled off his shirt, and proceeded to stare at him without any hint of shame in their looks. Bilbo huffed and crossed his arms over his chest defensively, and met their eyes without fear.

"What?" he demanded.

"You have a lot of scars," Nori commented quietly.

"And you're so skinny. Much skinnier than I thought," added Ori as he twisted his own hip length locks around his fingers.

Bilbo shrugged awkwardly, and begun to untie his pants. "Of course I'm scarred and skinny. I'm a _nomad_; what did you think that meant?"

"That you don't stay in one place?" offered Ori with a small frown.

The Hobbit gave the young Dwarf a look of pity. "It means I travel to foreign and sometimes _hostile_ cities just to work the lowest jobs around so I can save up coin to buy moldy bread for myself, and the fifty-six others in my clan."

Ori's green eyes went wide at his answer. "Oh. I didn't know that."

"It's fine. Not a lot of people do," he admitted quietly as he dropped his pants on the table and stalked over to the tub. Behind him the three brothers were silent as they finished undoing their braids before finally joining the Hobbit in the expansive tub.

"So. Why do you lot have public baths exactly?" Bilbo asked as the silence began to get on his nerves. "The Blue Mountains certainly didn't have such a luxury."

"Ever smelt a Dwarrow after he's been working in the smithy all day? It's not a pleasant odor," explained Dori, wrinkling his nose.

"And it helps prevent sickness and stuff," added Ori as he began to wash his thick hair with a liquid that smelt like honey.

"I wish the Men did something similar. They go weeks between washing," Bilbo admitted as he accepted an amber bar of soap from Dori. "Elves bathe regularly and my people try to wash whenever possible. It seems like only Men don't care about their scents."

"It's because they can't smell as well as Dwarrows and Elves," revealed Nori, washing his arm with a pale green cloth. "They also can't hear or see as well as other races. Kind of a pathetic lot really."

Ori hissed in disagreement. "Not true! Men have their strengths too! They are very diverse and unique and capable of surviving against all odds. They managed to hold their own against the rest of us for all these years, and even explored and built many kingdoms across the lands!"

"They also constantly succumb to their own petty desires and are incapable of putting the needs of others above their own," retorted the thief, rolling his eyes.

"And we don't?" challenged his younger brother as his green eyes sparked like the first flicker of a flame. "If left unchecked, we Dwarrows can become consumed by our own greed and possession. Even King Thrór the Wise—one of the shrewdest kings to ever rule Erebor—became gold sick in his later years. It is one of the reasons why his heir refused the crown and chose to abdicate in favor of his son!"

"Who was King Thrór?" Bilbo asked, deliberately interrupting the argument before it could grow more heated. Though Nori looked more amused than heated, Ori was clearly puffing himself up for a good long debate. The Hobbit had no interest in listening to that for the next hour.

Dori gave him a grateful look as he replied, "He was the current King's grandfather. When he died, the throne went directly to the Crown Prince at the time: Thráin II. But Thráin refused the crown and instead gave it to his oldest son, Prince Thorin. He is our king now."

"What happened to Thráin?" wondered the Hobbit as he tried to keep the names straight.

"Oh, he's around. He's a bit of a wanderer, actually. Always off exploring new lands and such. He comes back to Erebor every couple of years and stays a few months before leaving again," answered the oldest Ri brother with a shrug. "He is a good Dwarrow if not a little eccentric. He was wise enough to admit that he would have made a bad king. We all greatly respect him for that."

Bilbo mentally agreed. It took a great deal of self-awareness and selflessness to refuse the power and wealth that came with being a king. That he was willing to do it for the well-being of his people was even more admirable. Clearly the line of Durin was deserving of their praise and respect.

"I hope I have the chance to meet him one day," he admitted out loud as he began to clean the dirt out from under his nails. "He sounds like a good soul."

Nori snickered and lightly splashed some water at him. "Well, you already met two of the most powerful people in the kingdom. Who says more aren't to follow?"

* * *

The next day Bilbo decided to head out early in order to make a quick trip to Bofur's home to check on Bifur. He went alone as the three brothers all had their own jobs to attend to, and he remembered the way easily thanks to the unique district. When he knocked on the door, he was greeted not by the miner, but by an unknown Dwarf who was as large and round as a ball. Bilbo had to take a step back in surprise at the sight. He had never seen such a hearty Dwarf before. In fact, if it wasn't for the straight red hair and long beard, Bilbo would have thought he was looking at another Hobbit.

"Hullo. I'm Bilbo Baggins, a healer. I came here yesterday to attend to Bifur," he introduced as he met the stranger's brown eyes. "Um, I came back to check up on him. Is he awake?"

The stranger blinked a few times before nodding sharply, and stepping aside. "Yes, he is. Please come in. I am Bombur son of Baraldur. Bofur is my older brother."

"Nice to meet you," he returned as he entered the home for the second time. "I think I met your wife yesterday. Hamide?"

Bombur nodded and smiled widely; revealing two deep dimples in each plump cheek. Bilbo suddenly saw the resemblance to Bofur. "Aye, that's her. She and Bofur told me about ya last night. Thank you so much for looking over Bifur. We really appreciate it."

Bilbo shrugged one shoulder as he scratched the back of his knee with his foot. "No thanks necessary. A healer has a duty to always help those who need it."

"A noble ideal. Too bad more healers here don't follow it," sighed the large Dwarf with a shake of his head.

Bilbo nodded in agreement as he took a moment to study the Dwarf. Taking a closer look, it became more obvious to him that Bombur was indeed a Dwarf and not a Hobbit. His shoulders were far too wide and his frame far too thick to be one of his kind. And though not obvious at first glance, there was a resemblance to Bofur, and even Bifur in the shape of his wide eyes and square jaw.

"Bofur has already left for the mines," Bombur explained at he led the Hobbit up the familiar stone steps, "but Bifur is awake. He's been grumbling all morning about being stuck in bed and coddled over like an infant."

Bilbo snorted as he skipped a step to keep up with his host's longer stride. "Good. Means he's energetic and that means healing."

"My wife would beg to differ," retorted the Dwarf with a small chuckle. He stopped before Bifur's door and knocked softly before entering the room. Bilbo followed after and found Bifur in the same position he had left him in. The only difference now was that there was a new Dwarf sitting at his side while glowering at the injured miner. The new Dwarf looked around the same age as Bifur with blond hair threaded with silver and brown skin weathered from constant exposure to the sun. Bilbo got a flash of green eyes and a generous mouth before his attention was pulled back to his patient.

"Cousin, ya healer has returned to check on ya," greeted Bombur cheerfully as he bounded over to the miner with more grace than Bilbo had expected from someone of his size.

Bifur snorted. "Back again? What do ya want now?"

The stranger next to Bifur growled, and reached down to pinch the miner's bare arm. "For Mahâl's sake show some manners! The boy came all this way to check on ya grumpy old ass! He didn't have to do that!"

"I didn't ask the lad to come back!" Bifur argued back, rubbing his arm and glaring up at the other Dwarf. "Quit throwin' around words ya don't even know yourself! Houdin' me for manners when ya didn't even introduce yourself!"

"That's because ya opened ya big mouth before I could," hissed the other before he turned his dark green eyes to Bilbo. "Hello. I am Bjarte son of Bjarni. I'm Bifur's caretaker and soon to be ex-husband if he doesn't quit his bellyaching."

Bifur sat up straight and pulled his ample shoulders back. "Oh no. If anything _I'll_ be the one divorcin' _ya_ for smothering me!" he growled.

"Oh, I'm smothering ya am I? I'll remember that when ya have to get your hairy ass to the outhouse!" Bjarte snarled back as the corner of his lips pulled back to reveal a hint of teeth.

"Good! Maybe now I can piss without ya standin' over me the whole time!"

"I only do that because I have to keep ya from falling face down into your own shit!"

"Damnit, Bjarte, I married ya 'cuz I wanted a husband! Not another mother!"

"And I married _ya_ 'cuz I thought ya were a Dwarrow; not a mewling whelp!"

"I'm older than ya dumbass by two seasons!"

"So? Doesn't make ya any smarter!"

Bilbo turned, wide-eyed, to Bombur as the duo continued to hiss and spit at one another. "Um, is this normal?"

Bombur nodded with a heavy sigh; looking all too used to the verbal battle before him."Unfortunately. Arguing is their idea of showing affection. Or foreplay. I don't really know. I try not to think too deeply about it all. Saves me the headache. And the urge to throw up."

Bilbo bit his lower lip as Bifur and Bjarte descended into low tones only heard by war dogs in Gondor. "So it's always been this way then?"

"Since they were childhood friends," confirmed the Dwarf. "I don't think most people even realized they were married for a time because they don't act any different as spouses than they did as friends."

Bilbo raised his eyebrows but decided not to judge the couple over that. Instead, he stepped forward, and cleared his throat loudly and said, "I hate to interrupt your flirting, but I'm afraid I do have other places to be today."

The two Dwarves turned on him in a twirl of black and blond hair. Bilbo tried not to fidget at the heated glares, and focused his attention on Bifur. "Please, I just came to see if your injury has gotten worse or not. Has it?"

Bifur's face relaxed slightly and reached up to touch the bandage around his head with two fingers. "It's not too bad," he admitted, glancing to Bjarte sitting at his side. "This mothering hen here has been changin' the bandages and keepin' watch on me."

Bjarte crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back into his chair. Though he was still scowling, Bilbo could see that his eyes had softened, and his shoulders had loosened up. "I was only doing my duty as ya spouse. Nothing special about that," he muttered, looking off to the side.

"That's... good to hear," the Hobbit said slowly, glancing to Bombur and getting a shrug as an answer. "Keep it up and you'll be good as new. I'll come back tomorrow morning to check up on you again if that's fine with you...?"

Bifur grunted. "It's fine. Not like I won't be here. Stuck in bed all day. Doing nothing but getting old."

"Ya already old ya fool," reminded Bjarte with a roll of his eyes.

Bifur immediately bristled and launched into another round with his husband. Bilbo took that as a sign and quickly slipped out of the room with Bombur at his heels. Together, they left the bickering couple to their strange pre-mating ritual.

"We really do appreciate what ya have done for Bifur," the round Dwarf said as they walked down the stairs and to the door. "Truly, greatly appreciate it. It was so hard not knowing if he was going to be okay or not."

Bilbo shrugged; feeling awkward and uncomfortable by the thanks when he really didn't do much. "Yes, well, it wasn't like I didn't gain anything either. Helping all these miners could help me get a job of my own."

"Good." Bombur nodded and patted the Hobbit on the shoulder. "I'm glad to hear it. Ya should get something after all of ya selfless hard work."

"Again, I did it for personal gain. Not exactly a noble sentiment."

"No, but ya also didn't demand a payment from us," the Dwarf pointed out, and then laughed when Bilbo turned to stare at him with an open mouth. "What? Did ya think ya were the first to come down here offering ya services? It is a common enough task given to healers looking to gain work. But it is very rare for one not to ask for money in return."

Now Bilbo felt even more awkward. Bombur was practically beaming at him like a newly polished gem. He actually had to look away for a moment as the light made his eyes hurt. "Like I said: a healer has a duty to always help those who need it. Money should never be an issue."

Bombur's eyes exploded into a supernova. Bilbo squinted, and hoped he didn't go blind from staring into that radiance.

"Ya know, ya should come to dinner sometime. I would love to cook for ya to show our thanks," the Dwarf offered, smiling at him with his dimples on display.

"Oh. That... would be nice, actually," he admitted, never one to pass up on free food. "Could I... Could I bring along my friends? It's only three of them and they kinda gave me a place to stay so it doesn't seem right not to bring them along..."

Bombur nodded as his smile softened even more though Bilbo didn't think that was possible. "Of course they can come. We'd be happy to have them. Would three days from now be possible?"

"Sure, that sounds fine," he replied, scratching his cheek awkwardly. "Thank you for inviting us. Well, I have to get going now. Have a good day, Mister Bombur. I'll be back tomorrow morning to check on Bifur."

"We'll see you then," the Dwarf agreed, walking him to the door and seeing him out. "Oh, and please: call me Bombur."

* * *

"Good morning," Bilbo greeted as he walked into the clinic to where Óin stood reading a scroll.

The old healer glanced up and raised an eyebrow before turning his eyes back to his paper. "Good morning. I see I didn't scare you off for good then."

Bilbo furrowed his brows and shook his head. "Of course not. Why would you?"

"Why indeed?" the Dwarf muttered before rolling up his scroll and stashing it in one of his large pockets. "Well, come along then. Time for your second trial."

The Hobbit dutifully followed the older healer further into the clinic and into the back rooms where he found, to his surprise, a group of about seven children in their own beds. Some were crying and tossing in bed while others looked to be sleeping fitfully. There was a strong smell of vomit and feces in the air, and Bilbo couldn't help but wrinkle his nose at it.

"Your second test is to diagnose this group of ill children," instructed Óin, gesturing to the group.

The Hobbit raised his brows but still nodded. "Very well. How long have they been here?"

"They came in last night from the lower levels," the old healer explained, his gaze darting around the room to where each patient laid.

Bilbo nodded again only to pause once the words caught up to him. "Wait, lower levels? Then these children..."

Óin looked at him with a knowing glint in his eyes. "Yes? What about them?"

"They're lower class. I didn't think your clinic would treat the lower castes."

"That would be true if they were adults with no coin," the Dwarf admitted, rubbing the end of his curled beard. "But children are a different matter. They are the kingdom's greatest treasure and are treated as such. Hence they are always given the highest priority no matter what class they come from."

Bilbo hummed, and nodded in understanding. As a race with low birthrates, he could see why protecting the children of the kingdom was a high priority. He couldn't help but find it a shame that other races didn't follow the same practice.

"I understand. I will do my best to help them," he vowed to the older healer.

"Oh, don't get all serious and gloomy, boy. _I _already know what's wrong with them," declared Óin, patting him on the shoulder with one rough hand. "The point of this whole trial is to find out if _you _do. You have the rest of the day. Best get started."


	7. Act I: The Nomad - Chapter Seven

Disclaimer: I do not own any familiar characters/settings/plot featured in this story. They all belong to (most likely rolling in his grave) **J.R.R. Tolkien**.

* * *

**A**ct **I**: The **N**omad

**C**hapter **S**even

* * *

Bilbo could honestly say that he wasn't particularly fond of the idea of children. Oh, he loved them well enough, and he certainly had no trouble watching or playing with them when they asked. He certainly loved all of his young cousins very much, and enjoyed watching them grow and learn about the world around him. No, his problem with children was that he simply didn't want any of his _own_. He didn't want the huge responsibility that came with being a father. No, he preferred to be the funny older cousin who spoiled the little ones with candy and toys. He liked being able to play with the children before sending them off for their parents to deal with when they became too much for him. But most of all, he liked that he wasn't in charge of keeping any child alive and safe. That was one duty he wanted no part in because it scared the hell out of him. Even caring for their health was a terrifying thought because so much could go wrong with a child.

Unfortunately, healers didn't get a say in the age of their patients.

"Please stop crying," he begged his first patient as the boy continued to sob in his cot. "I cannot help you if you don't stop and tell me what's wrong."

"M-My tu-tummy hurts!" the boy cried between great, gasping hiccups. Bilbo could see that he was missing several milk teeth. "I-I want my m-mama!"

"I know you do," the Hobbit sighed, feeling his heart twinge in sympathy. "But you can't see her until we know what's wrong with you. You might get her sick too."

The boy ignored him and continued to cry. He had snot running down his face and his wet cheeks were pink and turning pinker with every minute. His clothes were stained with some vomit and sweat, and he looked all together rather pathetic. The sight made Bilbo sigh and reach over to a nearby table to put down his notebook and writing charcoal. He would not be getting any answers to his questions anytime soon. Not until the boy calmed down, and Bilbo knew of only one way to calm him down.

"Come here now," he said, reaching over to pull the crying child into his lap. The boy didn't resist, and wrapped his arms around Bilbo and continued to cry into his neck. The healer patted the child's back and tried not to flinch from the weight and tight grip around him. Though only a child, his patient was still a Dwarf, and possessed the same strength and density as all of his kind.

"What is your name?" he asked after the child had calmed down slightly.

The boy sniffed and wiped his nose on Bilbo's shoulder. The healer ignored it with the ease that came from having worse body fluids soaked into his clothes. "I'm Regi son of Regin."

"Well, it is very nice to meet you, Regi. My name is Bilbo Baggins, and I am a Hobbit."

Two brown eyes peeked up at from him under a mess of brown braids. "W-What's a Hobbit?"

"It's a race of people, much like how you are a Dwarf," he explained to the child, pushing back some of the thick braids from his sweaty forehead, "and others are Men or Elves."

"Oh. Th-Then are you going to make me better?" Regi asked, biting his lower lip.

Bilbo nodded as he stared the boy in the eye. "I am. But in order to do that I need you to answer some questions for me. Can you do that, Regi?"

The young Dwarf sniffed again but slowly nodded. "I-I'll try."

Bilbo grinned and tweaked the child's button nose; earning himself a squeak and then a watery smile. "I know you will. You're a big and strong Dwarf after all. This isn't hard for you."

Regi raised his chin and puffed his chest out slightly. "R-Right! I'm a big boy just like Mama said!"

"Your mama sounds like a smart sort," he agreed, winking. "Now, can you tell me what hurts the most?"

"M-My tummy. It hurts real bad," the child confessed. "It h-hurt so much I threw up all o-over myself. I couldn't stop and n-now my throat hu-hurts too."

"Hmm. Do you remember when your tummy started hurting?" the healer questioned, running a soothing hand down Regi's small back.

The boy bit his lower lip and scrunched up his nose in obvious thought. "I-I don't know. A-After I had dinner?"

Bilbo raised his brows. He suddenly had an idea of what was wrong with the children. "I see. And what did you eat?"

"Um, s-salted beef, I th-think?"

Bilbo nodded and lifted one hand to feel the boy's forehead. As he thought, Regi was sporting a slight fever. "Well, Regi, I think I know what's wrong with you. But I won't know for sure until I speak to the other children here. So I'm going to let you lay down and rest again. Is that fine with you?"

Regi pouted, but still nodded and slid off of Bilbo's lap and back into his borrowed bed. The Hobbit tucked him in and patted his head fondly. "Sleep for now. You'll see that soon enough you will be better and able to go home to your family."

"Yo-You promise?" the Dwarf said, peeking up at the healer from beneath a small mountain of blankets.

Bilbo grinned, and tweaked the boy's button nose again. "I promise."

* * *

Three hours and several crying children later, Bilbo had his answer.

"They're not sick," he announced, dropping his worn out notebook on Óin's desk. "At least, they don't have a plague. It's food poisoning from spoiled meat."

Óin leaned back into his padded chair and crossed his arms over his chest. "Correct. Those children all ate from the same butcher who was selling bad beef." He then smiled slightly and gave him a small nod of approval. "Well done, lad."

"It wasn't very hard," Bilbo admitted, scratching the back of his knee with his heel. "All I had to do was ask the children what they did the night before, and what hurt the most. With that it was pretty easy to see they had all eaten something bad."

The older healer shook his head and clucked his tongue. "Yes, but that was the point: you _asked_," he explained, emphasizing the last point. "You asked them questions and listened to their worries and concerns. Some healers wouldn't do that. They think they know best and ignore what their patients have to say. That type of arrogance can cost a person their life."

Bilbo blinked and rocked back on his heels. "That is the stupidest thing I have ever heard. How will you know what's wrong with someone if you don't ask them where it hurts?"

"Because some folk believe they know everything," replied Óin with a smirk. "You're done for the day. Come back tomorrow and I'll give you your last test."

Bilbo bit his lower lip as he struggled with whether or not to voice his desire before finally deciding to just blurt it out. "Can I stay until the children feel better? Most of them are scared and just want their parents. I don't want to leave them alone like this."

Óin cocked his head to the side, and studied the Hobbit for a moment before nodding. "I suppose that's acceptable. Most of them should be leaving soon anyways. Go ahead and stay until you think they'll be fine, or their parents come to claim them."

* * *

Bilbo ended up staying until the clinic closed and he had to leave. By then most of the children had calmed down enough to the point where they had become curious over the Hobbit sitting with them. He had humored them and endured their endless curiosity, and eventually even convinced them that no, he was not just a really, really short Elf. When he finally had to leave, the children were sad to see him go but he promised to visit them the next day if they were still there.

Stepping out of the clinic, he stopped short, and stared at the familiar face waiting for him. "Nori? What are you doing here?"

Nori blinked and held his hands out helplessly. "Because my father forgot to pull out?"

Bilbo scowled, and had to curb the urge to reach out and pull on one of his braids. "That's not what I meant and you know it."

"Mmm. I came to walk you home because Dori seems to be under the impression that you are defenseless and gullible." The Dwarf made a face like he had just met the village idiot. "Which we both know is bull, but Dori wouldn't listen."

Bilbo could believe that. Though he had only known Dori for a short time, it was fairly obvious that the Dwarf was the nurturing sort. "Well, that was kind of him. Thank you for making the trip just to escort me back."

Nori waved a dismissive hand as they began their trek home. "It's fine; I had to make a stop at this level anyways."

"Uh-huh," he said, giving the Dwarf a side-eyed look. "And do I want to know why or should I just not ask so I don't have to lie to the guards when they come looking for you?"

"Stick with ignorance. It will save you future sleepless nights," the thief replied, giving him a wink.

The Hobbit rolled his eyes in response. "You're so strange. Why do you even steal? I mean, your family isn't rich, certainly, but you're not as poor as Bofur and his kin. And I know you have a job; Dori told me you help out at one of the forges shoveling coal. So why be a thief when there is no pressing need?"

"You're very nosey aren't you? Do you know that some people consider that annoying?" the Dwarf asked, hiking up a brow.

"And you're trying to avoid answering my question by asking another question. Don't _you_ know some people consider _that_ to be annoying?" he retorted sweetly.

The thief snorted and then chuckled. "Fair enough. Well then, it's like this: before my ma kicked the bucket she racked up a lot of debts from different guilds. Needed loans and had some bad gambling debts. When she died, it fell to us to repay it. Hence, I steal."

"I see. Dori does not make enough to pay off these debts?"

"Well... Dori works for one of the guilds as a weaver. He's paid pretty well but…" Nori trailed off and ran his tongue over his canines as he visibly struggled to find the words. "Ori is training to become a scribe. The master he's apprenticed under is one of the best, and expensive as _fuck_. So most of Dori's money goes to paying for Ori's apprenticeship."

Bilbo nodded as he absorbed the answer. "I see. So why don't you get a job at one of the guilds too if they pay so well?"

"Because the guilds are controlled and occupied by families that have been in their trade for generations. It is very rare that they accept an outsider into the ranks. The only time they do is when that outsider is extremely gifted. Dori and Ori are both very talented and could find a trade on their skills alone," the thief explained, pointing to himself. "But me? I ain't so skilled."

Bilbo disagreed. Nori had quick fingers, quicker retorts, and a great poker face. Those were skills as far he was concerned. "You're a skilled liar. I'm sure someone out there would pay good money for that."

"Well, let me know when you find them," the Dwarf replied dryly.

They were quiet for a moment before Bilbo voiced another question. "What was she like?"

"Who?"

"Your mother."

Nori's eyes widened in surprise before he looked away. Bilbo watched as his mouth turned down, and his eyes seemed to darken slightly into the swampy green he had seen back in prison. "Ma? She was... well, she was different. She wasn't cut out to be a mother but I guess she did her best for us. Kept us clothed and fed and never hesitated to protect us. But she was... I don't know, I guess distant? Never really hugged us as brats and never got real deep and emotional with us. Not like Dori does. Knew the best drinking songs though, and could hold her own in a game of cards."

"She sounded like an interesting character," he admitted, carefully selecting his words. "How did she die?"

"Giving birth to Ori. A common occurrence amongst our females."

Bilbo winced in sympathy. "Oh. I'm sorry."

The Dwarf just waved a lazy hand. "Ehh, don't worry about it. Like I said, it's normal for our race. That's why we value children so much."

"That's right, they mentioned that at the clinic. They said you value children above gold and silver," he mused, scratching his nose. "Is that true?"

"Mmm. Offspring are rare and few so we treasure each one. There are centers set up around the kingdom that offer free food, clothes, and schooling for children if their parents are unable to provide for them. Orphans are always given to the best families and touching a sprog wrong can be punishable by death," the Dwarf explained, brushing some of his braids back from his face.

Bilbo was now _very_ impressed with Dwarves. Not even the Elves put so much attention in caring for their children. "Wow. That's very devoted of you lot."

Nori shrugged. "Like I said, children are rare and few. We value them because they are always a gift to us."

"Hmm. You know, it's rather surprising your race has survived for so long considering your small number of females, and the limited children birthed each year," the Hobbit mused, thinking over the statistics of it all. His own people were in danger of going extinct, and Hobbits could outbreed rabbits.

Nori snickered, and flashed him a mischievous smile. "Good thing we don't depend only on females for reproduction then, huh?"

"You don't?" he repeated in surprise.

"Nope," the thief chirped. "Mahâl gave us a second way to create children." He paused and then wrinkled his nose and corrected, "Or I guess _first_ because females came later."

Bilbo stopped and just _stared_.

"You're going to have to explain this to me because I'm completely lost," he finally said after he got his brain and mouth on the same level.

"Alright but don't tell anyone I told you. This isn't supposed to be known by outsiders," replied Nori, nudging him into walking along again.

He allowed it, and even endured the hand guiding him along by his elbow. "Then why are you telling me?"

"Because I don't give a fuck if you know or not," the thief replied bluntly as he ran his teeth over his canines. "Now, let's see... As the story goes, in the beginning we were stone. That is how we started and that's how we end. Mahâl carved the first Seven Fathers from seven different stones from seven different mountains. He then set each Dwarrow in a different mountain where they slept until it was time to be awoken. The first to wake was Durin the Deathless; the First Born and King of all Dwarrows. He was the one who journeyed across the land to each mountain to awaken his brothers so that they could begin their task of learning Mahâl's craft.

"They lived for a time under Mahâl's care and tutelage until finally they were ready to create their own forges. But a teacher needs a pupil, and so Mahâl shared with them the secret of crafting a being from stone. So each created a son to carry on his legacy, and from them the Seven Clans were created."

"But what about your females?" Bilbo asked as he listened along. "If you had this gift all along, then you wouldn't need females right?"

Nori nodded and continued, "Right. Like I said, females came later. You see, Dwarrows had begun to misuse the gift of life they had been granted. They began to kill the sons that they deemed as 'flawed' in order to create a new, better pupil. When Mahâl saw that His gift was being abused and corrupted, He created females, and took back the knowledge He gifted us. Now the only way to create a child through stone is through our Keepers. They're the only ones who were allowed to keep the secret craft."

The Hobbit was stunned. It had never occurred to him that life could start through different means. Which was stupid he realized in hindsight as the world was filled with different forms of life. "Wow, that's amazing! So a Dwarrow could just go to this Keeper and ask for a child and it will be granted?"

"Sort of. It depends on Mahâl," the thief explained. "The Keeper can carve the child but whether he lives is up to Mahâl. If He finds the Dwarrow worthy, then He will breathe life into it. If not, then the child will remain stone."

"Huh. So why don't you just carve a bunch of females to make up for the low numbers? Or is that not allowed?"

"Not possible. We can only carve males from stone."

"Why?"

"Because just like our children, Dwarrowdams were a gift we took and twisted and violated." Nori's face closed off a bit with those words, and Bilbo wondered what twisted acts the Dwarf had witnessed with his own mother. "When Mahâl saw this, He realized that He could not trust us to treat His daughters fairly. So He made it only possible for females to be born from another Dwarrowdam. It was His way of protecting them, I guess."

Bilbo nodded slowly as he absorbed all of the new information he had learned. He was a bit amazed, really, at how much love their creator, Aulë, had showered them with. It made him a bit jealous too that the Dwarves had the reassurance that their creator was always there for them. Hobbits had no real patron among the Valar, and tended to pray to whichever one they felt the deepest connection with. Most were drawn to Nienna the Weeper or Estë the Gentle as they were the most sympathetic to Hobbits and their plight.

"So where do Hobbits come from?" asked Nori as he shoved his hands into his pockets.

"We... don't really know," Bilbo admitted, staring down at his bare feet. "We don't have any connection to one of the Valar, or proof that we are Children of Ilúvatar like the Elves and Men. We sort of just appeared one day in the Valley of the Anduin River. Eventually we migrated to Eriador, and settled there until a hundred years ago when Smaug arrived."

Nori suddenly stopped and turned to stare at him with wide eyes. "Wait, your people came from the Valley of the Anduin River? But that's near here! Your people originated from _here_!"

The Hobbit stopped as well and stared at his companion in bewilderment. "Yes, and?"

"Nothing, I guess, it just surprised me," the thief admitted with a shrug of his broad shoulders. "I don't remember any legends mentioning your kind. Which is strange because we usually keep detailed accounts of every interaction with other races. Even _Elves_."

Bilbo thought back to the legend of why his people ended up migrating over the Misty Mountains, and snorted. "No, I don't suppose you would have."

Nori raised an eyebrow but didn't ask for clarification. That was fine with him. Bilbo didn't really want to share such a tale with Dwarf. He had a feeling it wouldn't be well-received by any Dwarf of Erebor.


	8. Act I: The Nomad - Chapter Eight

Disclaimer: I do not own any familiar characters/settings/plot featured in this story. They all belong to (most likely rolling in his grave) **J.R.R. Tolkien**.

* * *

**A**ct **I**: The **N**omad

**C**hapter **E**ight

* * *

"Bofur's brother Bombur invited me over for dinner tomorrow night," Bilbo mentioned later that night as he sat down to eat with the 'Ri brothers. "He extended the invitation to you three as well if you would like to come."

"Bofur? That's the miner you helped out, right?" mused Nori as he twirled his spoon between his fingers.

"Yes. When I went to check up on his cousin, Bifur, I met his brother Bombur. He's the one who invited me over for dinner as a show of thinks of helping their cousin."

"How kind of him," Dori beamed as he set down a bowl of stew in front of Bilbo. "We will, of course, accept. It would be rude not to."

"Not to mention stupid to refuse free food," Nori muttered under his breath as he took his own bowl from Ori, who took a seat next to him.

"Bilbo, could we go over some more books tonight?" the youngest Dwarf asked as he pushed some braids out of his face. "I have some pieces I'd like you to explain to me."

Bilbo nodded as Dori took a seat next to him. "Of course. I would be happy to."

"Don't hassle Bilbo into staying up too late," ordered the oldest brother, pointing his spoon at Ori. "He needs to be well rested for his final exam tomorrow."

Ori rolled his eyes as he dug into his dinner. "I'll cut out that trip to the pub then."

"What'd you think the last test will be?" wondered Nori, scooping out some vegetables in his stew and transferring it over to Ori's bowl. "Just shut up and eat it," he said when Ori gave him a glare. In response to the order, the scribe-in-training hijacked Nori's loaf of bread.

"I'm not sure. So far all the tests have been more about my character than any actual skills," replied Bilbo as he watched Nori retaliate by retrieving the bread, licking it, and then returning it to Ori. "I'm not quite sure what he'll have planned next."

"I'm sure you'll do just as well with the third test as you did in the first two," reassured Dori as Ori stuck his fingers into Nori's stew. "I'm sure Master Óin can see that you are an asset. From what I've heard, he's no fool."

Bilbo nodded in agreement as he watched Nori lick a finger and attempt to shove it into Ori's ear canal. "Um, aren't you going to stop them?" he asked, leaning closer to Dori and lowering his voice.

"No. This is how they bond," explained Dori with a small smile as Ori dug his fingers into Nori's side viciously.

"Sharing some ale was too hard for them?" the Hobbit wondered, raising his brows.

"Nori's not too good with feelings," Dori clarified, his jade green eyes lightening. "Gets it from our mother. His father was very open with his emotions. Probably what attracted and eventually drove him from our mother."

"You knew Nori's father?" Bilbo realized in surprise.

"I knew both of my brothers' fathers," the Dwarf confirmed, taking a dainty sip of his stew. "They were good Dwarrows, but our mother was not the type to settle down with anyone. She left them after she got with child and never contacted them again."

"Nori told me he doesn't know who his father is," the healer stated, stirring his stew and casting a glance at the battling brothers across from him. It had descended into some sort of tickle and hair pulling match, but no blood had been shed. Yet.

Dori nodded as he wiped the corner of his mouth with his napkin. "No, he doesn't, but Mother confessed the truth to me before she passed away. She kept us all from our fathers so they could not claim parentage over us. If they had, she would have been forced to marry one of them."

Bilbo furrowed his brows as he tried to understand that train of logic and failed. "What? Why?"

"It's the law. If a Dwarrowdam is with child and unmarried, then the Dwarrow who is responsible for her state must marry her or go to prison," the older male explained, gesturing to himself and his brothers. "It is mostly to ensure that the child is given a home and care. But it is also a way for a Dwarrow to claim an heir and a wife at the same time, and gives a Dwarrowdam a chance at safety and security."

"But that only works if the lady in question admits that the Dwarf is the father," connected Bilbo, nodding. "Clever of her then not to say anything. It permits her to stay free and keep her children. That is, if she wanted to keep you. Nori mentioned she wasn't the most... enthusiastic about being a mother."

Dori chuckled and shook his head. "No, she was not. But she still kept us, still loved us the best she could. I could never hold her faults against her when she did all of that."

Bilbo could not think of anything to say to that. He had been blessed, after all, with a loving mother whom had always made it clear that Bilbo was the greatest thing to ever happen to her. Even though he had lost her when he was young, he still had wonderful memories of Belladonna, and was still old enough to recall all of her teachings.

"Do you... Do you know who _your _father is?" he asked Dori quietly, unsure if he was being too invasive or not.

Thankfully, Dori did not look offended or upset by the question. "Oh yes, Mother told me before she died," the Dwarf replied calmly, taking a sip of his stew. "I've even met him a few times. He's very tall."

"Did you ever talk with him?" the Hobbit wondered, tapping his spoon against the rim of his bowl. "I mean, he's your _father_. Didn't you ever want to meet him?"

Dori smiled softly as his jade eyes deepened into a chalky green. "When I was a child, before my brothers were born, I often longed to know him," he admitted quietly. "But I am not a child anymore."

"Besides," Dori added as looked to Bilbo, his eyes lightening back into their normal shade, "I have these two rascals to look after. They take up a good deal of time and attention."

Bilbo blinked a few times as he studied the small curve to Dori's smile as he watched his bickering brothers. Then he smiled to himself, and went back to his dinner. "Yeah, I guess that's true."

* * *

The moment Bilbo stepped into the clinic, he found himself being harassed by a scowling Óin.

"I have your final test ready," the old Dwarf said in greeting as he grabbed Bilbo's wrist and proceeded to drag him through the clinic. "You are going to help me with an amputation. This morning a Dwarrow got caught under a cart and got his arm crushed. He'll live, but only if we remove the arm. You will be my assistant in the operation."

Bilbo took in the healer's words for a moment; his heart giving a brief shudder before the resolve settled in. "Understood. Just tell me what you need."

Óin grunted in reply as he led the way to a secluded room in the back of the clinic. Even before he entered the room, Bilbo could smell the iron rich tang of blood, and could hear the whimpers and groaning of a soul in absolute misery. He swallowed back the lump that formed in his throat, raised his chin high, and steeled him for the task ahead.

_Don't think about it. Just focus on the task ahead._

In the room, on a tall marble table, lay a Dwarf with brown hair so long it touched the ground. He was naked from the waist up, and sweaty and pale as he twitched and whimpered on his stone bed. He looked completely healthy until one saw his right arm; a mangled mess of broken bones, torn skin, and oozing blood. Bilbo couldn't help but wince at the sight of it.

Óin marched in without pause and began to bark out orders in Khuzdûl. The Dwarfs in the room—four of them, three males and one female—all moved without a word. The three males moved to hold down the patient while the female retrieved a bowl of steaming water and a dry cloth.

"We've given him some tonic to put him under," Óin said in Westron as he washed his hands and arms with the hot water. "I will do the cutting, but I need _you_ to cauterize the stump as soon as the arm is off. Can you do that?"

"Yes," Bilbo replied without hesitation. "I've done this before. I know what to do."

Óin raised a bushy brow, and then nodded. "Good. Wash your hands and we'll begin."

Bilbo had participated in the removal of a limb a handful of times, but the experience never ceased to unnerve him. He watched, with a mix of disgust and sympathy, as Óin used a small but sharp knife to cut through the layers of skin and muscle to the bone below. He then took another, larger knife from a tray held by the female Dwarf and, without pause or hesitation, began to saw through the bone like it was nothing more than a piece of timber.

The patient jerked and howled as soon as the blade touched him, and the Dwarves around him strained to hold him down. Bilbo felt his gut clench in horror as he watched Óin mechanically saw through the living bone in an edge as straight as a blade's. Then, as Óin grew closer to the end, he turned to the female Dwarf whom was watching Óin work with wide but steady eyes.

"My tool?" he asked her simply, and watched her jump slightly. When she met his eyes, he jerked his head to Óin and the patient. "My tool, to cauterize the wound. Bring it here."

The other healer nodded and left the room briefly before returning with a dagger burning orange and red. He carefully took the handle wrapped in a rag, and then moved to stand by Óin's side. As soon as he did, the arm fell cleanly off; leaving behind only a bleeding stump of flesh and bone. Óin immediately stepped aside and Bilbo took that as his cue to act. Without hesitation, he stepped forward and pressed the red-hot iron to the open flesh.

The reaction was instant: the patient jerked forward with a high, broken shriek as he struggled to escape, and the Dwarves grunted and cursed as they fought to hold him down. The sickening smell of roasted meat filled the room; mixing with the nauseating smell of blood and sour sweat. But Bilbo didn't notice any of this as he slowly, but firmly, moved the dagger around the wound; sealing it completely from the outside world. Once he was sure it was complete, he stepped back and allowed Óin to take his place so he could examine it.

"Good," the older healer eventually stated, nodding and turning back to the female Dwarf behind him. He began to bark out orders in Khuzdûl again and, as Bilbo watched, the four Dwarves all moved to follow his orders. Satisfied, Óin turned back, and met Bilbo's eyes with his own blue pair.

"We're done here," he said to the Hobbit, giving him a gentle nudge towards the door. "Let's go. The others will take care of the rest, and I need to clean all this blood off of my arms."

Bilbo didn't argue, and simply followed the older healer out of the room. It wasn't until he was out of the room and walking through the halls that he realized that he had been silently crying through the whole ordeal.

* * *

"You did well in there," commented Óin as he settled in his chair behind his desk. The blood that had caked his arms up to his elbows had been cleaned away, but Bilbo could still see that the sleeves of his tunic were stained a dark red.

"I'm impressed," he added as Bilbo met his eyes. "_Very_ impressed. Not everyone can handle such ordeals."

He blinked and then shrugged one shoulder indifferently. "It is never easy to see someone get their _limbs_ hacked off."

Óin snorted and rubbed the bridge of his wide nose. "Brat. You're going to be a pain in my neck, I can just tell."

"Does that mean you're going to hire me?" the Hobbit asked politely. Oddly enough, the news didn't make him feel as happy or relieved as it should have. Bilbo wondered if it was because he was still trying to process the idea that he had gotten a job, or because his mind was still in the underwater calm that it entered whenever he had to face a difficult situation.

"_Obviously_. You think I'd let you help me in that operation otherwise?" the Dwarf muttered, moving his hand up to rub at his forehead. He then titled his head to the side slightly, and pressed his lips into a thin line as he regarded Hobbit before him.

"You were crying through the whole thing," Óin stated, eyes lightening into a sky blue.

Bilbo winced and rubbed at his still damp cheeks. "Yeah. It happens, sometimes. I don't like to see people in pain."

Óin nodded slowly; still staring at him with gentle sky eyes. "I see. Well, go home, lad. Rest for the day. You did well. Come back tomorrow and we'll work out your shifts and pay."

Bilbo nodded and got to his feet, feeling too drained to argue with his new boss. But as he turned to leave, a thought hit him, and he paused before turning back to face Óin.

"That Dwarf... Would it be acceptable for me to care for him during his recovery?" he asked quietly, thinking back to the pale and sweaty stranger with thick curls that touched the ground. "I don't... I don't like to leave my patients unless I know for sure that they'll be fine without me."

Óin blinked a few times before giving him a small smile that made the lines around his eyes crinkle into little smiles. "Sure, lad. You can take care of him. I'm sure he won't mind that one bit."

* * *

When Bilbo returned to the 'Ri home, he found it empty of his new roommates. Relieved that he would not have to face them or their questions just yet, he marched to Ori's room, dropped his coat and leather sack, and then dropped face down into his makeshift bed on the floor. Once he did, he groaned in delight at the feel of soft fabric against his skin, and buried his face into the lumpy but oddly comfortable pillow.

_I hate my life_, he thought childishly, knowing that it was a lie but not caring. He was too tired and drained to be mature and sensible at the moment. The operation had hit him harder than he had expected. He knew that this was because he was an overly sensitive and empathetic _sap_ when it came to people in pain, and became even _worse_ when it was one of _his_ patients who were suffering. Something about seeing others in pain—physical or emotional, it didn't matter which—reminded him of his own hard times where life had become too much to carry.

—_father's blue eyes staring up at him glazed and empty as the fever takes over—_

—_his cousin's tiny body stiff and cold and pale like a doll—_

—_mother's hacking cough as she struggles to breathe—_

—_his hands red and wet as he tries to stop the blood—_

—_screams and battle cries as the Orcs run them down—_

—_the gnawing ache in his stomach as he goes another day without food_—

—_cold and numb and sore as he struggles through another thankless task, another lowly job that earns him scorn and disgust. Mocking laughter, unfair beatings, cheated wages, whatever it took because his _clan_ was counting on _him—

Bilbo whimpered at the memories, and buried his face even further in the pillow. For the first time since his arrival, he allowed himself a moment to miss his family. He missed his uncles and aunts and cousins, and the feeling of _belonging_ that he couldn't get in Erebor no matter how friendly the Dwarves were. But mostly, he allowed himself a moment to miss the home that he never knew.

_I want to go home_, he admitted to himself even though he knew he didn't have one to return to. _I just want to go _home.

* * *

That night, after Bilbo had finished his pity party and snapped himself back into shape, he led the three 'Ri brothers to the home of Bofur and his kin. Behind him he could hear Dori lecturing his two younger siblings about manners, being polite, and keeping ones _hands _to_ themselves_.

"They're Brass Rats, Dori, they ain't _got_ anything to steal," pointed out Nori with a snort. There was then a thump and a hissing noise that told Bilbo exactly what Dori thought about _that_.

"You don't think they'll serve _vegetables_ do you?" Ori wondered at Bilbo's side, making the word vegetables sound like some horrible mold that destroyed homes and made small children sick.

Bilbo gave him a side-eyed look. "What exactly do you have against vegetables?"

"Nothing personal. I just don't eat _green_ food," the young Dwarf explained, shrugging his shoulders.

"You don't eat anything but sugar and meat," mocked Nori from the back. "That's why you're so _short_."

Ori bristled like a cat at the sight of a bath, and turned his head back to give his older brother an evil look. "I'm not short, I'm average size! And I'm still growing so shut up!"

"Awww did I hurt your little feelings?" retorted Nori, adopting a tone one would use on animals, children, and idiots. "Dori, quick, give him a hug before he starts crying! Don't want to embarrass him in front of our hosts!"

"We're here," Bilbo announced before Ori could retort with a verbal or physical attack. He marched up to the door and pounded on it a few times before stepping back to wait.

Behind him, he heard Dori whimper at the horrible clash of colors of the home before them.

Soon enough, the thick plated door was swung open to reveal a beaming Bombur with his hair neatly braided, and an apron tied around his wide waist. "Bilbo! Ya made it! Please, come in, come in all of you! I am Bombur son of Baraldur. Let me take ya coats, please—Bofur! Get out here, ya healer is here!"

Bilbo allowed himself to be dragged into the home by the bustling Dwarf, and then disrobed before being gently pushed further into the small but cozy home. He spotted Hamide sitting at a table with a small bundle of pink cloth in her lap, and gave her a small wave that she shyly returned. On the other side of the room he found Bifur and Bjarte sitting on an old and faded chaise longue that was missing a leg, and being held up by a stack of wooden blocks.

"Good evening," he greeted the two, walking over and studying Bifur's head carefully. "How are you feeling?"

"For Mahâl's Sake, boy, ya were just here this morning," growled Bifur, rolling his eyes. "I was fine then and I'm fine now. Quit worryin' so much."

"He has every right to worry considerin' all the dumb shit ya pull," interjected Bjarte, elbowing Bifur in the side. "Let him do his job and quit bitching."

Bifur immediately turned on his husband with a snarl. Bilbo rolled his eyes as the couple began to spit and glower at each other, and turned his attention to Bofur as the miner finally sashayed down the stairs.

"Well hullo there," he greeted, smiling with his dimples on full display. "And how are we doing this fine night?"

"Dong well, thanks," Bilbo replied, giving the taller male a smile. "How are you? Any accidents in the mines lately?"

"No, we're fine, everyone is fine," said Bofur as his smile turned down into a frown. He slowly looked the Hobbit up and down before meeting his eyes full on.

"Are ya okay, Master Healer? Ya look... sad today," the Dwarf said softly, his dark brown eyes tender and concerned.

Bilbo blinked a few times, taken back by the assessment. It had been a long time since a stranger was able to read him so easily. He didn't know if he liked it or not. "It was... a tough day at the clinic," he explained slowly, trying to find the right words to say, "I'm very... drained, I suppose. But I'll be fine by tomorrow. Thank you for the concern."

Bofur arched a dark brow as he continued to stare at him with knowing eyes. "Mmm. If ya say so, Master Healer. Ah! Come, ya should meet my brother's daughter! She's a beauty she is!"

Bilbo dutifully followed Bofur over to where Hamide sat rocking her daughter. She gave Bilbo an uncertain look but, once Bofur whispered something to her, relaxed, and allowed the other Dwarf to push back the bundles of pale pink cloths to reveal the babe. Bilbo stepped closer and peered down at the chubby and hairy little blob, and felt something in him relax with a soft sigh. Babies always did have a calming affect on him.

"She's lovely," he said honestly, leaning back and giving Bofur a nod. "Very lovely. Congratulations. You must be very happy for your brother and sister."

"Aye, I am," admitted the miner, tugging his hat down slightly as he continued to stare down at his niece with complete adoration. "Best part of mah day is seeing her pretty little face."

"Yes, I can imagine that would be nice after looking at Bifur all day," chimed in Bombur as he came waltzing by carrying a large pot. Behind followed the 'Ri brothers; all three looking a bit taken back by the large Dwarf's energetic welcome.

"I heard that, Bombur, ya bastard!" Bifur snarled, flashing his cousin a rude hand sign.

At his side, Bjarte once again reacquainted Bifur's ribs with his elbow.

"Glad to see he's regained his strength," commented Nori as he crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against a nearby wall.

"Yes, it makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside," agreed Bofur, joining the thief against the wall.

Nori raised one eyebrow and smirked. "Ya sure that wasn't heartburn?"

"Nah, I don't get heartburn," dismissed Bofur, waving an idle hand in the air. "But it could've been bad gas."

Nori's green eyes lit up at the remark, and Bilbo predicted that Dori's life was about to get twice as stressful thanks to the new friendship forming before his very eyes.

_Mental note to self: don't leave Nori and Bofur alone without adult supervision._

"Thank you so much for inviting us for dinner," Dori said to Bombur as he followed him over into the large kitchen. "Do you need any help at all? My brothers and I would be happy to help you with anything."

"Speak for yourself," muttered Ori as he tried to subtly stare at Hamide at the corner of his eye. From the pink stain to his cheeks, Bilbo was betting the young Dwarf was a bit taken by Hamide's exotic beauty. And from Hamide's amused smile, he was sure the female was quite aware of it.

"Eyes up front, baby brother," Nori ordered, also noticing his brother's stare, and taking clear advantage of it. "She's waaay out of your league."

Ori blinked a few times, blanched, and then tried to tackle his brother. "Nori! Sh-Shut up!"

Nori simply grinned, and caught the younger Dwarf as they tumbled to the floor in a mess of limbs, cackles, and curses. Bofur began to yell out bets on who would win, and Bifur and Bjarte quickly joined in with their own wages. Hamide giggled hysterically into her daughters black curls while Bombur and Dori ignored them all as they shared cooking recipes. Rolling his eyes, Bilbo settled himself into a nearby chair, and resigned himself to the chaotic evening before him.

_It's going to be a looong night._


	9. Act I: The Nomad - Chapter Nine

Disclaimer: I do not own any familiar characters/settings/plot featured in this story. They all belong to (most likely rolling in his grave) **J.R.R. Tolkien**.

* * *

**A**ct **I**: The **N**omad

**C**hapter **N**ine

* * *

"Oddur," Bilbo growled as he stomped over to his patient's cot, "what did I tell you about blackmailing the aids into sneaking in ale for you?"

Oddur—the merchant whose arm he had removed only a month before—looked up and gave the Hobbit a look of wide-eyed innocence. "Not to get caught?" he offered, blinking his gray eyes.

Bilbo scowled, and reached down to pinch the Dwarf's beaked nose. "I said _not_ to do it! Ale is not allowed in here! This is a clinic, not a tavern!"

"Oh, you're so cruel, Master Hobbit," whined another patient in the cot next to Oddur—a smith named Jóni who came in with a broken leg that Bilbo had helped set a few weeks before. "Don't you know a Dwarrow can't survive a day without a sip of ale? And you've got us locked in here for _weeks_. Cruel, so cruel!"

Bilbo calmly reached over, picked up a spare pillow, and flung it at Jóni's—unfortunately—uninjured mouth. "You can have your ale when you're able to leave the clinic. That was the deal and you're sticking to it! _All_ of you."

Oddur cackled, and held up his hands in mocking surrender. "Oh, fine, lad, you win. We'll behave. Promise."

Bilbo wasn't buying it. Without hesitation, he pulled the Dwarf up into a sitting position, and then reached under his mountain of pillows for the bottle of ale that he was sure was there. Once his hand wrapped around the glass, he yanked it out, and pushed his patient back down into his nest of pillows.

"I'm taking this home and giving it to Nori," he informed his now pouting patient. "Keep it up, and next time I'll _drink_ it in front of you."

"Just can't win with ya, can we, Master Hobbit!" cackled another patient across from them—a lower class guard named Vóggur, whom was hosting a series of boils across his torso.

"A cruel healer indeed," agreed Oddur, glaring up at Bilbo through his brown curls. "Why can't ya be a wee bit nicer to us? Don't ya know we're in pain!"

"I'm your healer, not your mother," retorted the Hobbit, rolling his eyes as he fixed Jóni's leg rest. "It's my job to keep you alive and healthy. Nowhere does it say I have to be _nice_ to you."

"You're nice to Fravari," protested Jóni, pointing to the silent Dwarf in a cot across from him.

Fravari—a jeweler whom was slowly losing his sight to reasons unknown—snorted, but did not argue. He was the quietest of the four and rarely gave Bilbo any trouble. Naturally, he was Bilbo's favorite patient, and he wasn't afraid to share that.

"Fravari listens to me and doesn't try to sneak in banned items," the healer replied as he flashed said patient a wide smile. "Naturally, that makes him my favorite, and _of course_ I'm going to be nice to my favorite patient."

"Oi! I thought I was your favorite!" protested Vóggur, giving Bilbo an exaggerated look of betrayal.

"You're my favorite headache," replied Bilbo as he marched over to Vóggur, and snapped his fingers a few times. "Sit up now so I can get a look at those sores of yours."

Vóggur grumbled but did as told. Bilbo then easily unwrapped the bandages around his chest, and examined the multiple boils across his torso. A few looked ready to burst but the rest were still coming to a head. Clucking his tongue in disappointment, he began to retie the bandages.

"A few look ready to lance, but the rest still aren't ready," he informed the solider as he stood up straight. "I'll be back later though to drain them. If they break open before then, call for me. Understood?"

"Yes, Mother," replied Vóggur, giving him a toothy-grin.

Bilbo rolled his eyes and left the room without another word. He knew if he did say something, he would never be able to leave since the four had a way of dragging him into the most pointless little arguments.

It had been a month since he arrived in Erebor and found himself stranded. In that time he had been slowly settling into his new surroundings, and his new position as a healer at a clinic. He had sent a letter to his uncle explaining his situation and his plan for a solution, and had reinforced this promise by taking as many shifts as possible at the clinic. So far he had saved up a good amount of money, and estimated it would only take him to the end of the season to get the rest.

_Getting closer and closer now_, he mused as he sidestepped another Dwarven healer helping a patient. _I should ask Nori about any mercenary groups in the kingdom. He would probably know—_

"_Rabbit_! _Rabbit_, get over here, I need ya!"

Bilbo groaned, and closed his eyes at the (annoyingly) familiar baritone. The healer he had sidestepped snorted while his patient looked around in bafflement. Bilbo ignored them both, and waited as the graceless stomping from down the hall grew closer and closer to him. Once the stomping menace was right behind him, he opened his eyes, and held out a hand to stop them before they could speak.

"Óin, I'm not doing your paperwork for you. _Again_," he said, turning around to face his boss with a glare. "I'm your healer, not your cleric. Do your own paperwork!"

Óin scowled and batted his hand away. "I'm not here for that! And even if I was, it's your job to listen to me! If I say help me with paperwork, then you help me! Without any lip!"

"That's wasn't in my contract," Bilbo deadpanned, crossing his arms over his chest.

Óin's scowl deepened but he didn't try to argue with the Hobbit. It was true, after all. "I came here to ask you for your help," the Dwarf said instead, changing the subject. "I'm needed at the palace but my usual assistant can't accompany me today. Can you spare the time to come along?"

Bilbo mentally reviewed his list of patients before nodding. "Yes, I think it should be fine. No one needs me at the moment."

"Good. Follow me then," ordered Óin, turning around and stomping off for the exit. Bilbo quickly followed after the Dwarf. Óin didn't wait for anyone. Not even Mahâl.

"Has something happened in the palace?" he asked once he caught up. "Did the Royal Family get food poisoning or something?"

"Oh, who knows! They're all overly dramatic twits in there!" scoffed Óin, waving a dismissive hand and nearly smacking Bilbo in the face. "Knowing them, Kíli got another hangnail and whined about it to his brother. The lad loves to be pampered, the brat."

Bilbo snorted. "And who exactly is Kíli? Is he someone important?"

"_Prince_ Kíli," corrected Óin, giving him a warning look, "is the youngest son of Princess Dís and Prince Consort Vílin, and the only sibling of the Crown Prince. He is also the baby of the Royal Family and is therefore a spoiled little brat."

"Should I expect royal tantrums in the near future?" wondered Bilbo as he struggled to keep all the new names straight.

Óin snorted, and shook his head. "No. Kíli may be a spoiled little brat but he has a good heart. He just needs to grow up."

"Don't they always?" the Hobbit muttered under his breath as he recalled his—_unpleasant_ and _wet_—experiences with Lord Elrond's twin sons.

Óin, very pointedly, did not disagree.

* * *

In the month that he had been in Erebor, Bilbo had only ventured up to the third level of the city, and only for a few minutes before the guards had chased him off. After he had discovered that one needed a pass to get into the third level and up, he had dismissed his plan to explore the kingdom as pointless. But now, traveling with Óin, he was able to get past not only the third level, but up to the second and into the Royal Palace of Erebor.

"Um, am I allowed in dressed like... this?" he asked Óin as they ascended the biggest staircase he had seen in Erebor yet. It was made of ivory and gold marble and lined with solemn-looking Dwarves dressed in the finest blue and gold armor Bilbo had ever seen.

"Alone? Of course not. But with me it's fine," replied the old healer, marching up the staircase without a hint of fatigue. "Everyone here knows what to expect with me and my assistants."

"Really? Everyone you bring around dresses like a beggar?" the Hobbit wondered as they grew closer and closer to the top of the stars.

Óin snickered, and reached over to tug on the sleeve of Bilbo's frayed and patched coat. "Well, you certainly play the part of the little match boy."

Bilbo gave him a mocking scowl, and raised his nose high in the air. "_I_ am no beggar, my good sir, and I would have you remember that! _I_ am a poor nomad; there's a very big difference."

"Right. Pretend I care enough to remember that," advised Óin as they finally reached the top of the them sat two large, gleaming doors made of the same marble as the stairs, and guarded by the same soldiers. One of them stepped forward and gave a bow to Óin, who in turn held up a golden seal with a silk blue tassel and a strange marking imprinted in the middle. The guard nodded once and then turned to bark orders in Khuzdûl to his peers. Soon the great doors were opened, and Bilbo followed Óin into the Royal Palace of Erebor for the first time.

Bilbo's first impression of the palace was big. From the pillars the size of trees to the ceiling that seemed to go on forever, the Royal Palace was a goliath sized architect of gleaming marble and stone. His second impression was of the artistry. Though he had seen a good deal of artistic architect in Erebor and the Blue Mountains, the Royal Palace blew it all away. Everything—from the perfectly sized tiles to the carved runes on the wall—was a mastery to behold. The floor was made of multicolored tiles that were so small that the lines between were unnoticeable, and the walls were made of red marble that sparkled with a hint of gold. Each pillar that held up the ceiling—which was decorated with a massive painting of a war that he could only wonder at—was perfectly spaced, and decorated with exotic creatures wrapped around it from the base up. Among all this splendor were Dwarves of both genders dressed in the finest uniforms and garments the kingdom had to offer.

_Amazing_, he thought, gaping at everything before a calloused hand was wrapped around his wrist and he was yanked along.

"Stay close to me or you'll get lost," ordered Óin, forcing himself through the crowds without any shame.

"Does the palace have a name?" he asked his boss, not bothering to fight against the healer's practically parental actions.

"Mmm. In Khuzdûl it is called _Kuzrûnain_. In Westron that means 'The Palace of Náin,' and it was named by the first King Under the Mountain—Thráin I," explained Óin as he easily navigated through the long and winding corridors. "He named it in honor of his late father—King Náin of Khazad-dûm."

Bilbo nodded as he tried his best to listen and absorb all of the artwork and architect around him. There was so much history in everything he saw—from the very walls to the different uniforms of the servants—that he didn't know what to focus on first. Not for the first time in his life he wished he had the status and knowledge needed to sit down and study the nation around him.

"Óin?"

"Mmm?"

"What is the layout of this place? Is there any sense to all these halls?" he asked, gesturing to the polished marble walls covered in paintings and antique weapons. "How many rooms are there? Who even lives here for that matter? Are there different sections where only certain people can go? Do they have their own names too?"

"Why, Bilbo, I didn't take you for the scholarly type," teased Óin as he raised one fluffy brow. "What's with all these questions from out of the blue?"

Bilbo shrugged as he glanced over a group of five female Dwarves dressed in elaborate violet and blue dresses. "I like to learn about the kingdoms I visit. Usually I would get a book to help me, but since I can't read your language, I'm stuck with bugging the people around me instead."

Óin's eyebrow rose higher as he gave the Hobbit next to him a considering look. "Huh. Well, if you really want to know, the palace is roughly split up into four major sections that we'll call the North Hall, the West Hall, the East Hall, and the South Hall. Within those halls are four smaller halls: The South-East Hall, South-West Hall, North-East Hall, and North-West Hall. The South Hall is where we are now, and holds the audience halls, court halls, offices for the different departments, and is generally where the King holds court and meets with advisors. The West Hall is where the King hosts banquets and performances, and entertains visiting diplomats. It is also where the library sits along with the guest wing. The South-West Hall holds the kitchens and some servant quarters. The South-East Hall holds the different palace departments and the rest of the servant quarters.

"The North Hall is the King's personal wing that he gets all to himself. The East Hall belongs to Princess Dís and her husband, and Prince Frerin. The North-East Hall would belong to the Royal Consort if there was one, and the North-West Hall belongs to the Crown Prince. He also shares it with Prince Kíli because, like I said, the boy is spoiled. Prince Frerin is also rarely here since he has his own home outside the palace that he chooses to spend a majority of his time at."

Óin finally paused in his lecture to cast a smirk at the dazed Bilbo. "Are you getting all of this, lad? Or have I defeated your brain?"

Bilbo slowly shook his head as he tried his best to memorize everything Óin was sharing with him. He doubted he would be getting another chance to learn such details about the palace. "No, keep going. I'm keeping up."

Óin grinned, and patted him on the shoulder. "Good boy. Now, where was... Right, as I said, the halls are broken down in directions but that's not what they're called. Each hall actually has its own unique name. For example, the King's Hall is called _Gabildumu Durin_. In Westron that means 'The Great Hall of Durin.' The names change with each new king though sometimes they'll keep the old name if they like it. Each member of the Royal Family has their own wing of private rooms, their own section to the kitchens, a garden, and servant quarters. At the moment only the Royal Family lives here, but my kin and I have stayed here at times in our lives. Perk of being related to royalty."

"You don't seem the type to care about such perks," the Hobbit commented, gesturing to Óin's casual and plain attire.

"You're right, I don't," admitted the Dwarf, shrugging carelessly. "I don't believe that blood makes one great. It should be the character that matters, not the heritage."

"My father used to say the same thing," Bilbo revealed, giving his boss an approving smile, "and after all this time, I see that he was right. I've met a lot of amazing people whom were born into lower class families, and a lot of nasty people who were of prestigious lines. In the end, it seems like blood does not hold true."

"Unless you're a Durin," replied Óin, giving him a wink.

Bilbo couldn't help but laugh in agreement. "Unless you're a Durin."

* * *

After going through winding corridors, a vast amount of doors, and a good deal of scary guards, Bilbo finally found himself in the North-West Chamber that belonged to the Crown Prince. There, in a room so large and finely decorated that he felt dirty and poor just _looking_ at it, he found two Dwarves dressed in the finest silk clothes he had seen in Erebor yet. Naturally, he could only presume they were members of the Royal Family of Erebor.

"Óin," greeted the oldest stranger when they entered, slowly standing up from her seat. She was a middle-aged female dressed in an emerald and gold gown that twinkled like stars when she moved. Oddly enough, she wore only the barest amount of jewelry—gold decorated with emeralds and diamonds the size of chicken eggs—but it suited her. She held out one hand to Óin, who quickly took it and gave it a small kiss.

"Dís," he returned, releasing her hand and standing up straight to meet the female's eyes. "What's wrong? The messenger told me nothing other than I was needed."

The stranger—who could only be Princess Dís—did not answer right away. Instead, she turned her eyes—blue and slanted almost like a cat—to Bilbo, who lurked near the door uncertainly. "Who is this?" she asked Óin without removing her eyes from the Hobbit.

Óin clucked his tongue, and rolled his eyes. "My newest assistant, Bilbo Baggins. He's trustworthy so quit trying to stare him down."

Princess Dís ignored his demand and kept staring. Bilbo boldly met her strange eyes, and studied her back in turn. The princess was an average sized Dwarf with moonlight pale skin, thick black curls, and features as sharp as the edge of a blade. She was not what one would call beautiful by Dwarf standards, but she was certainly stunning with her exotic eyes and opposing coloring. Her unnerving ability to stare without blinking was also rather remarkable.

"Mother," another voice called, breaking their stare off. "Enough. He's here to help so let him help."

Princess Dís and Bilbo turned as one to face the stranger whom had spoken. It was a younger, male Dwarf dressed in sapphire robes with gold trim and onyx jewelry. He was handsome enough with golden locks held back in neat and practical braids, a beard that was only now long enough to braid, and the characteristic Dwarven features of a wide jaw and wider shoulders. But it was not until Bilbo took note of his eyes—a bit rounder in shape than Princess Dís but still the exact same shade of blue—that he knew he was most likely looking at the Crown Prince.

"Thank you, Fíli," said Óin, rolling his eyes again—which was also the same shade of blue as the royal duo, Bilbo suddenly realized—and waved the Hobbit over to his side. "Bilbo, come here. Meet the Crown Prince of Erebor: Fíli son of Vílin, and the next King Under the Mountain."

"My uncle is not dead yet, Óin," the young prince pointed out, arching one blond brow, "and it's nice to meet you, Master Baggins."

"Likewise, Your Highness," he returned, giving the prince a respectful nod.

"And the one trying to drill a hole through your head with her eyes alone is his mother—Dís daughter of Arndís," added Óin, jerking his chin at the princess.

Bilbo gave her the same respectful nod that he had given her son. "Nice to meet you, Your Highness."

Princess Dís pursed her lips in reply, and then pointedly turned back to face Óin. "Kíli is ill," she announced, her eyes darkening into a smoky blue. "He has been feeling weak and dizzy for past few weeks, but yesterday he started vomiting and fainting. He's been in bed since then."

Óin's eyebrows furrowed at the news. "Where is he?"

"Asleep," replied Prince Fíli, standing up from his own seat and gesturing for them to follow him. He led them into another room that was smaller than the first, but still fairly large to Bilbo. In the center of it was a square bed sitting on an elevated platform; large enough to hold five Dwarves and draped in blue and silver sheer silks. Behind the gossamer curtains, Bilbo could make out a dark shape laying in the center of the bed.

Óin immediately went up to the bed and he quickly followed his boss. As Óin yanked back the glossy drapes, Bilbo realized that the dark shape was actually a young and unconscious Dwarf, whom he could only assume was Prince Kíli. He was younger than his brother with dark curls, a startlingly smooth complexion, and the sharper features of their mother. His skin was a few shades darker than his brother as well, but he shared the same arched brows and wide shoulders as Fíli.

_He's just a child_, Bilbo realized, taking in the baby fat that stubbornly clung to the prince's bones. _Probably only just reached his majority. No wonder he's so protected._

"How long has he been asleep?" questioned Óin as he reached down to take the prince's pulse.

"Not very long. He hasn't been able to sleep for the past few weeks," replied Prince Fíli, moving to stand on the other side of the bed with his mother.

"He's also reported having terrible headaches that last for hours at a time," added Princess Dís, her face set in stone as she stared at her youngest son.

"And the rashes?" Óin asked as he lifted Prince Kíli's arm up for them to see.

"Started about a month ago," said the Crown Prince. "He has more on his back too. They weren't very bad so he didn't mention them until recently. Now they almost look like blisters."

Óin grunted as he gently placed the prince's arm back down. He then reached over to feel the Dwarf's forehead, and scowled at whatever he felt. "Thoughts, Bilbo?"

"Poison?" he offered, reaching into his pack for his notebook and writing charcoal to begin taking notes.

"Impossible," the princess immediately shot down. "All his food is tested before it even leaves the kitchens."

"There are other ways of poisoning a person," Bilbo pointed out gently.

Princess Dís grew still while her elder son's face took on a dark look. "Kíli does like to slip out of the palace without his guards," he admitted, scowling down at his little brother. "He's usually good at going unnoticed, but that doesn't mean he couldn't run into trouble somewhere in the lower levels."

Óin grunted as stood up straight and cracked his knuckles. "I'm going to need to speak to everyone he had contact with these past few days. And I need to see what he's been eating, any jewelry he's worn, and his clothes. Bilbo?"

"I'll investigate the areas he visited last," the Hobbit reassured, not looking away from the notes he was writing. He then paused for a moment, and glanced up at the two royal Dwarves standing across from him to add, "That is, if I have permission from Your Highness?"

"You have permission to search the palace," replied Prince Fíli, giving him a small nod while his mother continued to pretend that Bilbo didn't exist. He then reached into his robes and pulled out a diamond shaped seal made of gold with a red tassel at the end. In the center of it was a black rune that Bilbo recognized as Khuzdûl.

"Take my personal pass. It will give you access into every area of the palace excluding the King's Wing," the Crown Prince explained, tossing it over the bed to Bilbo, who barely caught it. Smirking, he added, "Show it to my guard outside. He'll help you get around the palace."

Bilbo nodded in thanks as he stuffed the heavy seal into his pocket. "Thank you. Now can I get a list of all the places he's been to within this past week?"

Prince Fíli easily listed the areas, and with his information suitably collected, Bilbo turned and quietly left the royal Dwarves behind. He was just about to walk out of the main chambers when the door swung open and he collided with a very solid surface. With a small gasp, Bilbo stumbled back before catching himself. Blinking a few times, he looked up and found himself facing yet another unknown Dwarf.

This stranger was surprisingly tall for his kind but still possessed the wide and thick frame that his people were so well known for. His black hair fell to his waist in a mess of braids and curls that had no real order or control, and his beard was braided into a long and single strand that was casually tucked into his leather belt. His face was handsome enough for a Dwarf: high cheek bones, a wide forehead, and a surprisingly pointy nose that somehow fit his face. But the most noteworthy feature of all were his almond eyes: blue as the ocean on a sunny day and just as infinite. Bilbo had a feeling more than a few Dwarves fell into those eyes. Possibly broke a leg or two in the process.

"Hello," he finally greeted when those blue eyes met his. "Are you the guard of the Crown Prince?"

The stranger blinked. "What?"

"I said, do you guard the Crown Prince?" he repeated patiently. "Because he told me to ask the guard out here for help around the palace. Are you him?"

The stranger opened his mouth a few times before finally saying, "I... Why did the Crown Prince tell you to get help from his guard? Who are you, for that matter?"

"Bilbo Baggins, healer and assistant to Master Óin," the Hobbit introduced, giving a short bow. "I came with him to examine the sick prince. I've been ordered to investigate all the areas the prince may have visited within the last week. But since I don't know the palace, the Crown Prince told me to ask his guard to escort me around. Now are you that guard?"

The stranger stared at him for a moment before finally nodding firmly. "Yes, I am the guard. I am... Thorin. My name is Thorin."

Bilbo raised his brows at the vaguely familiar name, but could not place where he had heard it. "Torin?"

"_Th_orin," the guard repeated, emphasizing the beginning of his name.

"Corin?" he repeated, this time deliberately getting it wrong just to be a nuisance.

"_Thorin_," the guard repeated again, his voice beginning to grow deeper and his face twisting into a scowl.

Bilbo grinned in response, pleased by the easy reaction he had managed to provoke. "Nice to meet you, Thorin," he said, finally using the correct name. "I look forward to working with you."

Thorin raised one inky brow, and seemed to almost look down his pointy nose at the Hobbit. "We'll see about that."

Bilbo just rolled his eyes. "Or not."


	10. Act I: The Nomad - Chapter Ten

Disclaimer: I do not own any familiar characters/settings/plot featured in this story. They all belong to (most likely rolling in his grave) **J.R.R. Tolkien**.

* * *

**A**ct **I**: The **N**omad

**C**hapter **T**en

* * *

"The first area on the list are the training grounds," Bilbo announced as he scanned his notes. "Do you know where they would be?"

Thorin hesitated for a moment before nodding firmly. "Near the center of the palace there is an old rock garden. He and... the Crown Prince often practice there."

"A rock garden?" Bilbo repeated, glancing up at the guard. "What is that?"

"Exactly what the name implies: a garden of rocks," replied the Dwarf, raising his eyebrows. "It belonged to... the former Consort Under the Mountain. Since her passing it has fallen into disarray, and now only the princes bother with it."

"A garden of rocks," Bilbo mused, trying to imagine such a sight. "How interesting. Do many Dwarves practice such things?"

"Not to my knowledge," answered the guard, frowning. "Are you ready to leave?"

The healer nodded and patted his pack fondly where it rested against his left hip. "Ready as I'll ever be. Lead on."

The guard continued to frown but still turned and began to lead the Hobbit through the winding halls. Bilbo quickly jogged to catch up with his companion's longer stride, and had to practically skip to keep in step with him.

"You don't wear the same uniform as the other guards around the palace," he commented casually, taking in the plain but finely crafted leathers that Thorin donned along with the scarce jewelry.

Thorin grunted and kept his eyes focused on the horizon before him. "No, my—I mean, the personal guards of the royal family wear a different uniform from the palace guards."

"Do the different colors and styles have different meanings?" Bilbo asked, studying the geometric shapes woven into Thorin's clothes.

The guard glanced at him for a second before his eyes flickered forward. "Yes. Blue is the color of the Royal Family and the uniform of the palace guards. Other colors represent personal guards and servants of different clans."

Bilbo nodded absently in thought. "Do the King and Crown Prince have their own colors?"

"Why are asking me all these inane questions?" Thorin asked suddenly. "Do they hold any sort of connection to your task?"

"Well, no—"

"Then cease pestering me with pointless chatter," ordered the guard, cutting him off.

Bilbo felt his irritation spike up sharply, and struggled to hold back from lashing out. Instead, he gave a melodramatic sigh and shook his head. "Wow. You're a real bastard, huh?"

Thorin froze. "... What did you just call me?"

"But that's fine. I suppose you have good reason to be an ass," he continued calmly, nodding thoughtfully. "One of your princes is ill due to reasons unknown, and I'm the stranger that's suddenly supposed to help him. Being a total bastard to me is the only logical response."

"Are you accusing me of being ungrateful?" the guard snarled, spinning around to face him fully.

"Oh caught on to that did we?" the Hobbit replied, widening his eyes innocently.

"You—do you know who _I _am?" demanded Thorin, his face twisting into an ugly snarl.

"A very rude guard?" Bilbo offered, raising his brows and crossing his arms over his chest. "One who does not seem to realize that I came here to help?"

"No one asked for your help," Thorin retorted. "You have no reason to help our prince, let alone care about what happens to him. He's hardly of any great importance to you—"

Bilbo felt his frayed patience finally snap. "Are you kidding me?! What is_ wrong_ with this kingdom?!" he demanded, poking the Dwarf in the chest hard enough that Thorin took a step back. "Why is it that, every time I try to help someone, I get nothing but disbelief and suspicion? Is it really that hard to believe that I—_a healer_—would like to simply heal my patient? Why do I need some underhanded reason to help someone? Why can't it be that I simply want to help because it's the _right_ thing to do?"

Thorin stared at him, wide-eyed, and looked close to actually taking another step back from the Hobbit. Bilbo sneered, and reached out to grab the rude Dwarf by his belt, and yanked him closer just in case he did try to make a run for it. "Don't try to slip away," he ordered, standing up on his toes in an attempt to meet Thorin's eyes evenly. "We have a job to do and we are going to do it! So quit being such a rude bastard and help me heal _your_ prince! Understood?"

The guard slowly nodded; his blue eyes large in his face and his mouth hanging open like a fool. Bilbo clucked his tongue in satisfaction, and released the Dwarf with a small shove. "Good. Now take me to the rock garden. _Now_."

* * *

Thorin was silent for the rest of the walk to the garden. Bilbo didn't mind the quiet and took the time to study the palace some more. To his surprise, he saw next to zero Dwarves in the halls, and the ones they did pass were the statue-like guards who didn't seem to blink. Eventually his curiosity got the better of him, and he broke the awkward silence to ask why that was so.

"I am using the private corridors to avoid attention," the guard explained quietly. "The King would not be pleased if word got out about Prince Kíli's condition."

"That makes sense," he acknowledged. "I had heard the King really loves his nephews. He's probably really worried about the prince right now."

"Very worried," agreed Thorin, the edges of his mouth tightening. He then abruptly stopped, and Bilbo turned to face him, confused over the sudden change.

"I owe you an apology," the guard said before Bilbo could speak. Thorin curled his hands into tight fists at his side, but met and held Bilbo's gaze straight on. "I did not mean to offend you. I am simply... Erebor is a very rich and powerful nation. Many people would do anything to get a bit of that wealth. The Royal Family has faced... more than their fair share of such worms. Most of us here have given up on being open and trusting. The consequences of such naivety... it is not a price anyone would like to pay."

Though he didn't want to, Bilbo felt his sympathy rise with each of the Dwarf's words. He knew what it was like to have your trust twisted and misused by someone whom you thought was a friend. Even worse, he knew what it meant to have others rely on you, only to fail them because of you own faulty judgment. He did his personal best not to be jaded by such actions, but Thorin had clearly been burned too many times to hold onto the belief that people were good at heart.

With a small sigh, the Hobbit nodded his head. "Apology accepted. I understand it must be hard to trust me when I have offered you nothing to believe in. So I won't hold it against you anymore."

Thorin blinked a few times, looking taken back by Bilbo's reply. "You... You are very strange, Master Healer."

"Yeah, I get that a lot," Bilbo muttered, scratching the back of his knee with his heel. "To be honest, I'm kinda surprised you apologized. You don't seem the type to admit he was wrong."

"You're right. I don't usually give out apologies," Thorin admitted bluntly, gesturing for Bilbo to follow him again. "But even _I_ can see I was too harsh on you back there. I should not have taken my frustrations out on an innocent stranger. It was dishonorable of me."

Bilbo decided to take the highroad and not mock him for that. "How long have you guarded the Crown Prince?" he asked instead, changing the subject.

"Since his birth," Thorin replied, his furrowed brows easing up and the tight lines at the corner of his mouth softening. "His mother entrusted him into my care shortly after he was born, and later did the same with his younger brother. They are both... very dear to me."

Bilbo felt his sympathy go up another notch. "This must be very hard for you then. I'm sorry."

Thorin gave him another odd look as if the Hobbit had slipped into a foreign tongue. "Thank you for your concern, but I am fine. I worry more for Her Highness than anyone else. Prince Kíli is her favorite so this is very hard on her."

Bilbo frowned. "That doesn't sound... right. I thought favoritism among royal families was a bad idea? Doesn't it create tension and competition between siblings?"

Thorin scoffed, and waved his question aside with one gloved hand. "Prince Fíli is many things, but insecure and petty is not one of them. He is doted on by not only his own father, but by the King _and_ Prince Frerin _and_ most of the court. Prince Kíli needs his own corner to fall back in, and the Crown Prince recognizes this. It is one reason why he can never say no to the boy."

"And does Prince Kíli feel the same? Or does he resent his glorious older brother?" the healer wondered, raising his brows.

Thorin faltered for a moment; his blue eyes flickering with unknown emotions before settling on something murky and callous. "I don't know," he admitted, his voice lowering. "I like to think he's fine but—I don't know. Prince Kíli loves his brother, I don't doubt this, but love and hate are like a double-edged blade. It would be far too easy for him to fall from one side to the other."

Bilbo couldn't think of anything to say to such words. But before the silence could drag on, Thorin shook his head fiercely; his gold and blue beads clinking together in a messy harmony. "But enough of this," he declared, his face settling into a scowl. "The garden is close by. Let's hurry and get to it."

* * *

As far as gardens went, Bilbo wasn't very impressed by the Dwarf version.

"This is the ugliest garden I have ever seen," he announced, bracing his hands on his hips and looking around him. Thorin gave him a dirty look but did not dispute his claim. The rock garden _was _a sad sight of random boulders cut into unique shapes, dried out canals with equally dried out waterfalls, and uncut gems that stuck out from the ceiling. The only interesting feature he could find was the sandy floor that glittered like a silver sea under the lanterns.

"It was in better condition when the Royal Consort was still alive to tend to it," Thorin tried to defend halfheartedly. "She used to have waterfalls and small ponds with fish in it. It was a good place to relax and forget your worries."

"And now it's a playground for two rowdy princes," the healer mused, glancing down at the numerous footprints pressed into the fine sand. He lifted up his own foot and idly ran a finger over his now silver heel, and was surprised to find that the sand was actually finely ground stone.

"What kinda stone is this?" he asked his companion, rubbing the silver powder between his fingers and sniffing it. To his disappointment, it was odorless.

"I... am not certain," the guard replied, squinting down at the ground. "It is not familiar to me. But I can have one of the guards find out."

"Do it. The place is covered in this stuff which means the two princes have been breathing it in with every step," he pointed out, wiping his hands on his pants and leaving a smear of silver across his clothes.

A corner of Thorin's mouth tightened but he did as asked, and began to gather up the powder in a small leather pouch. Once the powder was sent off to another guard to investigate, the two returned to exploring the chamber. But to Bilbo's disappointment, they could find nothing but common mold and the occasional bug.

"There's nothing here," he admitted after nearly an hour of exploring the chamber. "Nothing useful, anyway."

Thorin grunted in agreement as he hopped off a boulder colored a sickly amber and green. "Agreed. What is the next area on the list?"

Bilbo pulled out his scrunched note and squinted as he struggled to read it in the dim lighting. "The baths and kitchens. Do you know where they are?"

Thorin nodded and began to march off for the exit. "Indeed. Follow me; they are not far from here."

* * *

The baths of the Royal Family were grand and spacious and divided into private chambers. Prince Kíli's personal section was as luxurious as the rest of the palace with red marble tiles, a tub built into the ground that was as wide as a house, and a waterfall that cascaded directly from the ceiling. Looking at it all made Bilbo feel a bit ill.

_The cost of making all of this could feed my entire clan for years_, he thought, poking at a gold plated vase with his toe. _Probably an entire _lifetime.

"Do you see anything unusual?" asked Thorin as he stalked around the pool towards a marble table that housed an assortment of bottles.

"This whole place is unusual to me," replied Bilbo as he examined one of the many silky red drapes hanging from the ceiling. "Why are there curtains _here_? What could you possibly need it for when bathing?"

"It's for decoration, really," answered the Dwarf as he picked up one of the bottles and sniffed at it. "That's what most of the furniture in here is for."

"It's a waste of money that's what it is," muttered the Hobbit, sneering at the small pond masquerading as a bathtub. He then paused and narrowed his eyes as something sparkly caught his attention. Squatting down, he leaned closer to the water and stared at the twinkling peach-colored stone of the gigantic pool.

"Was this tub always this color?" he asked the guard, tilting his head to the side in order to get a clearer view.

"No. It was recently redone. Why?"

"Because this marble has flakes of silver in it too," he replied slowly, finally tearing his eyes away to meet Thorin's surprised pair. "I think it's the same material from the rock garden."

* * *

"I'm beginning to sense a theme here," Bilbo announced after they had examined the kitchens and found bowels and plates made of the same sparkly stone. He held up one of the thin plates in question to the light above, and squinted at the intricate designs chiseled into the sparking white dish. "What a waste of a perfectly nice plate."

Thorin was not as calm about the situation. As soon as they had entered the kitchens, he had begun barking orders at the servants in Khuzdûl, but it was not until they had been presented with the tableware that he had truly exploded. Bilbo didn't have a clue what the Dwarf was saying, but he knew it was nothing good thanks to the expressions of sheer terror on the servants' faces.

"Are you done yet?" he asked, setting the plate done with the rest of the dishware scattered across the table. "Or do you need to bark some more?"

One of the servants let out a squeak while Thorin merely gave him a vicious glare. "I am not _barking_," the guard snarled, his voice deepening on the last word. "I am _interrogating_ the servants over the _poisoned_ dishes that have somehow ended up in the _p__rince's personal kitchens_."

"Save it for later. We have one more place to investigate," he advised, waltzing over and snagging the Dwarf's hand before dragging him out the door. Behind him he heard one of the servants gasp as whispers broke out like a swarm of rats. Bilbo wasn't too surprised; they probably weren't used to Hobbits manhandling Dwarves around.

"I wasn't done with them," the guard grumbled, his arm oddly tense beneath Bilbo's hand. "I have more questions."

"Like I said, save it for later," replied Bilbo as he finally paused at a crossroad of halls. "Now how do we get to Prince Kíli's private chambers? The ones he doesn't share with his brother?"

Thorin said nothing. When Bilbo turned to look at him, he found the Dwarf staring down at their joined hands. The Hobbit immediately released him and took a step back. "Sorry. Forgot not everyone likes to be touched," he apologized.

Thorin blinked a few times and then shook his head. "It's... fine," he said, flexing his hand a few times before turning his attention to the corridor to their left. "Come; Prince Kíli's chambers are to the east of here."

Like the rest of the palace, the second prince's personal chambers were a fine display of wealth and overindulgence highlighted in green and gold. Though they were not as large as the Crown Prince's rooms, they were still bigger than any single person would ever have need for, and still made Bilbo ill to see so much money being wasted on one person.

"How often does he use these chambers?" he asked Thorin as they searched through the four interconnected rooms.

"Often enough. It is mostly storage for his possessions as he spends most of his time sleeping in Prince Fíli's chambers," the guard answered as he examined a huge fireplace that could probably fit an Elf or two.

"Why does he share his brother's rooms? Doesn't he have enough space here?" Bilbo wondered, poking at a gold and silver carving of a dragon. It had rubies for eyes and actual diamonds for claws. "If I had a chance for my own room, I would take it in a heartbeat."

The guard shrugged. "Prince Kíli has never liked sleeping alone," he said simply, moving on to examine a chest of drawers.

Bilbo rolled his eyes at the childish answer, and then froze at what he saw. Sitting up on the wall was a large painting of what was probably meant to be the ocean at night. But what caught his attention was not the artistry, but rather the glimmering silver of the waves.

"Hey," he called to his companion without looking away from the painting, "give me a boost."

"... Excuse me?"

"You heard me. Give me a boost," he said, finally looking to Thorin who had frozen in the middle of rummaging through one of the drawers. "I want to examine that painting."

Thorin just stared at him. "Then why don't you use a stool?"

Bilbo snorted, and raised one of his ashy and silver feet in the air. "Yes, let me use one of _Prince Kíli's_ _gold stools_ to stand upon. I'm sure he won't mind the _stains_," he drawled, wiggling his dirty toes at the guard.

A muscle in Thorin's jaw twitched.

Point made, Bilbo set his foot down and crossed his arms over his chest. "Look, if you're too weak to hold me up then I can get another guard—"

"You will do nothing of the sort," interrupted the Dwarf, his eyes narrowing and his shoulders drawing back. "I can lift you just _fine_. Just tell me which painting you wish to study."

Bemused, the Hobbit pointed it out, and waited for the bristling guard to walk closer and then lower himself to his knees. Carefully Bilbo sat on one of the Dwarf's wide shoulders, and then squeaked as said Dwarf stood up suddenly; his thick arms locking around the Hobbit's legs securely.

"Warn a person before you do that," scolded the healer as he looked at the painting that was now at eye level.

Below him, Thorin snorted. "Are you planning to make this a common occurrence?"

"Depends on how many times your princes get sick," Bilbo retorted, reaching out to touch the silver waves. To his surprise, the paint crumbled into powder at his touch; staining his fingertips a familiar silver.

"Well that confirms it: this painting is made up of the same stuff as everything else," he commented, looking down at the glowering Dwarf. "Do you know who gave this to the prince?"

The muscle in Thorin's jaw twitched again. "I do."

"Good." Bilbo rubbed the odorless powder between his fingers and smirked as he finally made the connection. "You can put me down. I think I figured out this mess."

* * *

"It's nickel poisoning," Bilbo announced sometime later after getting confirmation on the metal.

Thorin looked away from the guard who had delivered the news, and stared at the Hobbit making himself comfortable on a table. "What?"

"Nickel poisoning," repeated Bilbo, swinging his legs idly. "Not surprised no one noticed since the palace doesn't seem to use nickel. Why is that?"

"Because the Royal Family only uses gold, silver, electrum, sometimes platinum—but never nickel. That is for the lower classes," replied Thorin, waving the other guard away who left after a silent bow.

"Which is why you lot didn't recognize it when Prince Kíli was poisoned by it," connected Bilbo, wrinkling his nose.

"But _how_?"

"Through small exposure. The rock garden was sprinkled with ground nickel. His tub and utensils were made with it. Even that painting on the wall was made of it. He's been exposed to it in nearly every way," explained the Hobbit, raising a brow at the guard. "You were there for it all. Remember?"

Thorin closed his eyes and began to rub his forehead. "That's not what I meant. I'm asking how do _you_ know that this is nickel poisoning?"

"Because I did it," Bilbo deadpanned, and then immediately held up his hands innocently when Thorin's face went white. "No, I'm kidding, just kidding, that was a joke! No, actually I know because I saw it in the Blue Mountains when I lived there. The Dwarves there are pretty immune to the stuff since they work with it all the time, but us outsiders weren't so lucky."

"Is there a cure?"

"Not really. All we can do is flush it out of his body and then keep him away from it," the Hobbit admitted, sliding off the table and to his feet. "Look, Óin knows how to help the prince so I'm going to go tell him. But while I help him, _you_ need to report this to the King and ask him to get rid of anything with even a hint of nickel in it. Get rid of all those plates and bowls, the bathtub, the painting—_everything_. Have someone lock up that garden and then get some miners to come collect all that powdered nickel sprinkled all over the ground. They have the best resistance to the stuff, and they'll know how to get rid of it."

Thorin frowned but still nodded. "Very well. I will inform one of the guards to help you back to the Crown Prince's chambers. And I don't think I have to tell you the consequences if your prediction is wrong, yes...?"

Against his will, Bilbo found himself flinching as memories sprung up. "No, you don't. You_ really _don't."


	11. Act I: The Nomad - Chapter Eleven

Disclaimer: I do not own any familiar characters/settings/plot featured in this story. They all belong to (most likely rolling in his grave) **J.R.R. Tolkien**.

* * *

**A**ct **I**: The **N**omad

**C**hapter **E**leven

* * *

"I went to the palace today," Bilbo announced when he returned to the 'Ri brother's home later that day.

Dori, predictably, froze but Nori looked unconcerned as he picked at his nails with one of his daggers. "That's nice. Meet anyone interesting?" he asked without looking away from his hands.

"Not really. Just some really rude Dwarves," replied Bilbo, unwinding his pack and setting it down near the door before shrugging off his coat. "Princess Dís kept looking at me like I was something from the bottom of her shoe, and her son's guard acted like he was the King of Erebor himself. Very exhausting."

"What were you doing in the palace?" Dori asked, finally unfreezing from his shock. He dropped the platter of meat he had been carrying onto the table a bit harder than normal; shaking the dishes and making Nori scowl up at him.

"Óin was summoned because one of the princes got sick, and since his usual assistant wasn't around at the time, he dragged me along," Bilbo explained, taking a seat at the table and folding his arms over it so he could bury his face away. "It was ridiculous! They had silk curtains and gold vases in the baths! _Gold vases_! Why would you ever need a vase in the baths?"

"Why are you asking us? We don't even have a private bathhouse," reminded Nori, deliberately missing the point of Bilbo's rant. He knew it was deliberate too on account of Nori's foot jiggling under the table. The thief only ever did that when he was being a pest.

"Which prince got sick?" Dori questioned, ignoring Bilbo's ranting and his brother. "Did you manage to help him?"

Bilbo lifted his head from the safety of his arm fort to wrinkle his nose at Dori. "It was the younger one—Prince Kíli? And guess what he has? _Nickel poisoning_. Nickel poisoning! The guard who helped me didn't even know that such a thing exists!"

Nori snorted, and gave him a judging look over the edge of his dagger. "What did you expect from a bunch of blue bloods? I'd be surprised if any of them could tell a pickaxe from a mattock," he mocked.

"I'd be surprised if _you_ could tell the difference between the two," snarked Dori, nicking his brother's dagger with one hand while shoving a carving knife into his face with the other. "Stop playing around and cut this up for me," he ordered, sliding the dagger into his wool belt while ignoring the glower Nori shot him.

"They had so many useless trinkets scattered all over the place. Trinkets that could feed my _entire clan_ for _years_ to come. It made me sick to see it all while knowing my people are starving," the Hobbit added bitterly, resting his chin on folded arms. "I should have stole something just to spite them."

"Now, Bilbo, don't be petty," Dori scolded lightly as he retrieved a basket of carrots from the kitchen.

"Be petty," disagreed Nori, beginning to pick at the meat with his new knife. "Be the pettiest fucker around. And then nab a few items and I'll hawk them for ya."

"No way. My mother will return from the dead to beat me if I do," the healer said, shuddering at the memory of a scowling Belladonna. "She never approved of stealing even when we were desperate."

"A wise woman," complimented Dori as he reached over to flick Nori's ear. "She sounds like she was a real lady. What was her name?"

"Belladonna. Belladonna Baggins," Bilbo replied as both sadness and joy welled up in him. He still missed her dearly but the grief was easier to bear now. Like an old wound that healed up and now only ached when the weather got too cold. "She had dark brown hair and a beauty mark above her lip. Her favorite flowers were lavender and she always told the best dirty jokes. They would always make my father blush which is why she told them to begin with. She loved to tease him."

Nori arched a brow and shot a look at Dori that Bilbo could not read. "What a pretty name," Dori complimented, giving Nori a small nod before flashing his soft smile at Bilbo, "for an equally lovely lady. You and your father must miss her a lot."

"No, he's gone too," the Hobbit said, watching Dori's hands as he skillfully peeled the skin off the carrots. "Do you need any help preparing dinner, Dori?"

"No, I'm nearly done but thank you for asking," replied Dori, beaming. "Would—"

Dori was interrupted by the front door flying open and slamming against the wall. They all turned and found a wild-eyed Ori standing in the doorway; his hair a mess and his clothes in disorder and breathing hard.

"They've changed the date of the exam!" he yelled before anyone else could speak. "It's now the day after tomorrow! Dori, I'm not ready yet! I haven't studied enough! I'm going to _fail_!"

Bilbo shared an eye roll with Nori at Ori's dramatics while Dori calmly stood up and ushered his baby brother into the house. "Now calm down, love, and come sit down," he said, tugging Ori's coat off and hanging it up before guiding him to the table to sit next to Nori.

"Now tell us what happened in slower detail," he ordered, smoothing down Ori's hair. "Why are they moving up the date of the exam?"

"Oh I don't know!" Ori huffed, throwing his arms up in the air. "Something about preparing for a treaty between the Iron Hills and Orocarni—I stopped listening after I heard the date given!"

Dori nodded and stroked his beard. "Oh, that's right. The treaty. I heard about that but I didn't know we would be hosting it."

"It makes sense though. Erebor is a neutral territory in the middle of the two kingdoms," Nori pointed out, gesturing to the house around them with his knife. "Perfect place to meet and make nice."

"What is the treaty for?" asked Bilbo, feeling a bit lost.

"It's to secure a permanent alliance between the Iron Hills and Orocarni," explained Dori. "Orocarni has a great deal of salt, diamond, and emerald mines that the Iron Hills sorely lack."

"Really? And Erebor doesn't seek the same?" the Hobbit asked in surprise.

Nori snorted, and lightly kicked Bilbo's leg under the table. "Pfft, why would we? Richest of the Dwarrow Kingdoms remember? Orocarni can offer us nothing we don't already have."

"Not to mention Orocarni is very leery of outside kingdoms. It's a miracle they even accepted the offer from the Iron Hills," added Dori as he continued to pet Ori's hair. The younger Dwarf had buried his face in his hands and was now mumbling to himself in Khuzdûl. Bilbo took a second to play with the idea of comforting the young scholar, but decided that Dori had a handle on that.

"Bah! They'd be stupid not to agree. We all know that King Ahmed needs the soldiers from the Iron Hills to secure his borders," said Nori, pointing his knife at his older brother, "_and_ he needs Lord Dáin to secure his claim on the throne. Agreeing to this treaty is really the best solution."

Bilbo sat up straight and waved his hand to gain Nori's attention. "Wait, why don't they trust you guys? Aren't you all Dwarves?"

"Orocarni doesn't trust anyone since their civil war ended ten years ago," Nori explained, sitting up straighter while his green eyes lit up. "See, 'bout twenty years ago one of the nobles there staged a coup. They took out the king, his husband and children, and nearly all his supporters. Only ones who got out of it alive were his youngest son and a younger brother. The son finally returned ten years ago and killed the usurper and claimed his father's throne for himself. Since then his reign has been shaky as he's trying to rebuild the kingdom_ and_ weed out all the old conspirators."

Bilbo nodded as he absorbed the story. It sounded like something out of one of the books Nori kept hidden under his bed and for a moment he couldn't believe it was real. Then he recalled his own people's history and realized he had no right to doubt it. "Wait, who's Lord Dáin? That name sounds familiar," he said, recalling his second set of questions.

"Lord Dáin is the ruler of the Iron Hills," replied Dori this time. "He's from the Line of Durin and is therefore related to the Royal Family of Erebor. He is also one of Mahâl's Chosen."

"What the hell is that?"

"It's a term used to describe Dwarrows who are very gifted or talented in something," said Ori, finally dragging himself back to reality. He looked up from his hands and scrunched up his face in distaste. "It's a very rare term and has only ever been used four other times in the history of our people. Lord Dáin is the fifth one to receive this honor and the only one in this Age."

"And what makes him so worthy of this title? I mean, what did he do to deserve it?"

"Well, he pretty much dragged his nearly dead kingdom back into life and made it a force to be reckoned with," answered Dori, tilting his head to the side in thought. "And he did this before coming of age."

Bilbo's jaw dropped. "_What?! _How?"

"Several ways. He introduced a new system of mining that reduced the number of deaths to nearly zero, started a new order that sees to the health and well being of every citizen in the Iron Hills, and demolished a lot of laws that kept Dwarrowdams and lower classes from participating in government matters," Dori listed easily with a shrug. "He also renewed every treaty he could with nearly every race in order to bring in more trade."

"And he destroyed the Guilds policy of families keeping a monopoly on one trade," added Nori, grinning sharply. "Now Guilds have to accept people based on skill alone and leadership is no longer passed down from parent to child."

"He also has led a great deal of military campaigns to regain lost Dwarrow territories," Ori commented, perking up a bit. "His battles are actually really interesting because the strategies he uses _look_ ridiculous in theory but are frighteningly successful in action."

Bilbo felt a bit blown away. "W-Wow he did all that? _Before_ he came of age?"

Dori nodded slowly as he explained, "Well, some of it came after he was an adult, but the important parts that stabilized the kingdom he did when he was young, yes. The Iron Hills still has a long way to go before they're close to Erebor's wealth, but they're getting there. This treaty will help stabilize their economy greatly."

"They currently have the strongest army out of all the Dwarrow Kingdoms," added Ori, obviously still stuck on the war portion of the conversation. "Apparently every citizen must serve a term in the army before they are allowed to pursue a trade. Even the Dwarrowdams!"

The Hobbit wrinkled his brows. "I thought all Dwarves do that?"

"Nah, Erebor got rid of that law ages ago," Nori replied, shaking his head. "We got enough soldiers so no point in dragging in more. We are still required to learn combat though. Just in case the King decides to take another crack at Azanulbizar."

Bilbo wasn't even going to ask what _that_ meant. "Well, this has been very enlightening," he commented, thinking over all of the new things he had learned of current events. "When will this treaty occur?"

"Whenever the parties from Orocarni and the Iron Hills get here," answered Ori with a scowl. "Which is apparently soon and that's why they've moved up the examination date. This ruins everything! I'll never be able to pass the way I am now!"

Dori clucked his tongue and gently swatted his youngest brother on the back of the head. "Now stop it, Ori, you haven't even taken the exam yet. Who knows you might just pass with what you already know!"

"And if you don't, just try again next year," added Nori, shrugging one shoulder. "It's not the end of the world if you don't pass."

Ori didn't say anything but his scowl deepened, and Bilbo felt a twinge of sympathy for the young Dwarf. He knew that Ori wanted to pass not simply because he wanted to be a scribe, but more so he could get a job and help his brothers in paying off their mother's debts. He felt guilty for depending on them to take care of him and pay for his tutelage, and was anxious to repay them for all they had done for him. It was a feeling Bilbo could relate to all too well.

"I'll help you study tonight," he told the Dwarf, nudging Ori's leg with his foot under the table. "We'll go over whatever you think you'll be tested on until you know it."

Ori's shoulders relaxed slightly, and his scowl lightened up into a small smile. "Thank you, Bilbo. I appreciate your help."

"But aren't you tired, Bilbo? You've had a very taxing day," interjected Dori with a frown.

"Doing what? Leading a grumpy guard around on a goose chase? The most exhausting part of my day was restraining myself from kicking him in the face," Bilbo snorted as he shook his head and rose from the table. "No, c'mon, Ori, let's go get started. We have a lot of work to do tonight."

* * *

"Three times."

Bilbo looked up from his grinder to blink at the Dwarf across from him. "What?"

"That's how many times you've yawned in the past five minutes," Óin explained, gazing at him with one fuzzy brow raised. "What's wrong, lad? Surely our little adventure into the palace yesterday wasn't _that_ exhausting."

"It wasn't," he reassured his boss, shaking his head. "No, I was up late last night helping a friend study for his upcoming exam. It's been changed from the end of the season to tomorrow so he needs as much help as he can get."

Óin eyebrow ascended another level. "Hmm. You sure like to help people don't you?"

"It's not about whether I like it or not," he disagreed. "It's about doing what's right."

"Is this a Hobbit value? To help another whenever you see it?" wondered the Dwarf, cocking his head to the side slightly.

Bilbo shrugged. "I suppose. We know what it's like to be ignored and turned away so we always try to help when we can."

Óin nodded slowly as he stared at Bilbo with a thoughtful expression before silently returning to the tonic he was preparing. Bilbo followed suit, and turned back to grinding up the herbs he had been asked to prepare. It was a slow day at the clinic for once with only a few people paying a visit for minor needs and some of the resident patients finally going home. With such rare downtime, Óin had roped him into making tonics and poultices to stock up on. Apparently the old healer didn't trust the younger healers to make them correctly. Bilbo personally didn't mind the quiet time as he was rather tired after staying up half the night with Ori going over possible subjects the exam could focus on. Unfortunately his luck was generally bad, and around noon that peace was interrupted by the clang of iron and the bellow of a deep voice.

"Óin! Óin, you old goat, where are you?!"

Óin groaned and covered his eyes with one hand. Bilbo didn't bother to mask his snort as he asked, "Friend of yours?"

"Not by choice," Óin grumbled just as the door swung open to reveal a Dwarf who looked hazily familiar to Bilbo. He stood as tall as Óin but had a stockier frame with densely packed muscles, a sharply cut jaw, and a round nose. He was handsome enough with his blue eyes and round features, but his best trait of all was clearly his red hair and thick beard that he wore down in a multitude of braids. He wore an elaborate set of robes dyed a light blue that was trimmed with pearls and diamonds, and silver jewelry that jingled with every move he made.

"There you are! I've been looking for you forever!" the stranger cried when he saw Óin. "Why the hell is this place designed like a damn maze?"

"It's not. You just have horrible sense of direction," Óin retorted as the newcomer marched over to him. "What are you doing here, Glóin?"

"Nice to see you too, brother," the stranger—Glóin—replied mockingly. "Yes, I'm doing quite well thank you for asking. No, my son doesn't miss you, why do you ask?"

Óin rolled his eyes. "Oh, stop acting like a brat. I just saw you three days ago for dinner and Gimli yesterday for our weekly walk."

"Wait, why are you visiting my son more than me?"

"Because I like him more obviously. Now what do you want?"

"I'm telling Mama you said that," hissed Glóin, giving him a stink eye. "As to why I'm here, it's to deliver a message for her Royal Bitchiness. Kíli is awake and doing better now so his mother wants to meet with the little Hobbit that helped him."

"She wants to meet Bilbo?" Óin repeated, glancing across the table to the younger healer. Glóin followed his gaze to Bilbo, and then narrowed his eyes at what he saw.

"You look familiar. Have we met before?" he asked bluntly.

Bilbo shrugged indifferently. "Probably. But I don't remember where. You noble Dwarves all look the same to me."

"Even me?" wondered Óin, hiking a brow.

The Hobbit stuck out his tongue at his boss. "Shut up, Óin, you know you look like an angry beggar to me."

"The only beggar here is you, lad."

"Who are you?" interrupted Glóin, looking back and forth between Bilbo and Óin with his brows furrowed. "Brother, who is this? Is he your new protégé?"

"Mahâl's Dusky Tits, Glóin, could you be any ruder?" wondered the older Dwarf, his mouth curling into a grimace. "His name is Bilbo Baggins and he's one of the new healers here at the clinic. Bilbo, meet my bumbling baby brother, Glóin. Please ignore everything that comes out of his mouth because it is always nonsense."

"Hey!" squawked the younger Dwarf.

Bilbo calmly raised a hand and waved. "Nice to meet you," he said pleasantly, studying the Dwarf closer. Now that Óin mentioned it, Bilbo could see the resemblance between the two in the shape of their face, the size of their nose, similarly placed beauty marks, and their identical blue eyes. He was beginning to wonder if the blue eyes were a dominant trait among noble Dwarves.

Glóin sniffed but nodded back. "You as well. Now that pleasantries are done, grab your stuff and let's go. I have other things to do today than play messenger boy."

Bilbo was about to agree when he recalled Ori and realized he had to decline. "Sorry, but I'm afraid I have to refuse," he replied, shaking his head. "I already have a prior engagement."

Glóin eyebrows flew up to hide in his mane of fire. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me. I have a prior engagement with an important friend that I can't afford to miss. So thanks for the invitation, but I can't go," he explained again, giving a shrug. "Sorry."

Glóin just stared at him like Bilbo had insulted his entire family line. "You... You can't turn down an invitation from a _princess_!" he finally sputtered, pointing at the Hobbit. "What is _wrong_ with you?!"

"Is it illegal?" wondered the healer, tapping the edge of his bowl with two fingers.

"What?"

"I said is it illegal?" he repeated. "Is it against Erebor's laws to turn down an invitation from a member of the Royal Family?"

Glóin reluctantly shook his head. "Well, no—"

"Then I'm turning it down," interrupted Bilbo. "I'm truly sorry to do this, and I wouldn't if I didn't have any other choice, but I promised my friend I would be there, and Bilbo Baggins never breaks a promise."

"But—"

"Glóin," Óin finally said, grabbing their attention and holding it with his stern eyes. "Enough. Tell Dís that he'll come a different day. It won't kill her to wait for another time."

"But, Óin, you _know_ what she's like—" Glóin sputtered only to be interrupted again by his elder sibling.

"I'll talk to her if she insists," the healer said, waving an irrelevant hand. "In fact, tell her to blame me if she wants to. Just leave Bilbo alone."

Glóin stared at the older Dwarf for a moment before his entire body seemed to slouch in submission. "Fine. You win, Óin. I'll tell her your little healer refused. But if she ends up trying to stab me with one of her hairpins _again_, then I'm taking it out on your hide."

"I'll sleep with one eye open," deadpanned Óin.

Glóin sniffed and, with one last nod to Bilbo, left in a whirl of red curls and blue silk. Bilbo waited until he couldn't hear the Dwarf's heavy footsteps before he turned to scowl at his boss.

"Óin, you didn't have to do that. I don't want you to get in trouble with the princess on my account," he said, placing a hand on his hip.

Óin scoffed and turned back to his tonic. "It's fine. Dís doesn't scare me as much as she does the rest of Erebor."

"Why does she scare people?" the Hobbit wondered, wrinkling his nose at the thought. "I mean, I met her so I understand why you wouldn't _like_ her, but fear? That sounds like a bit too much."

"Let's just say that if Dís had been born a male, then _she_ would be the one sitting on the throne right now," replied Óin before pointing to Bilbo's uncompleted task. "Now get back to work. I'm not paying you to sit around and chat."

Bilbo made a face but did as told. He still couldn't help but ponder over Óin's words for the rest of the day, and wondered exactly what he had gotten involved in by helping the Royal Family of Erebor.

* * *

"I'm going to fail."

"No, you won't. Now stop shaking."

"I don't remember what I learned! My head is a blank slate right now!"

"That's not new—ow! What did I do now?"

"Nothing, I suppose. Just being your usual self. Try to do less of it, Nori."

"I think I'm going to throw up," announced Ori, stopping in the middle of the road to cover his eyes. "Oh, I'm _definitely_ going to throw up."

Nori grunted, and snagged his little brother's elbow to drag him through the crowded streets. "Yeah, yeah aim for the side and don't get it on my boots. You do and I'm kicking you in the face."

"You're such a loving older brother, Nori," droned Bilbo from Ori's other side. He also had a hand on the young Dwarf's wrist just in case he tried to make a run for it. Again.

"Where is this exam being held again?" asked Nori, pushing past two younger Dwarves without a care.

"The Jade District," replied Bilbo, giving the two offended Dwarves a small nod of apology. "Do you want me to lead the way?"

The thief snorted, and looked back to give Bilbo a look that redefined disbelief. "You can't even _read_ the signs. How'll you know you found it?"

Bilbo shrugged indifferently. "I'm sure Ori would help me there. Right, Ori?"

"Did I bring my special quill? I can't take the test without it," Ori said, scrunching his brows together in thought.

Bilbo rolled his eyes. "Yes, Dori packed it for you along with your lucky rabbit foot, a snack, and a good luck note."

"Did he also wipe your bottom and change your nappy?" asked Nori, turning to give his brother his signature smirk that guaranteed to piss off anyone who saw it. "Did he pack extra just in case you wet yourself?"

It was a testament to how disturbed Ori was that he did not rise to the obvious bait with either a remark or a smack. Bilbo felt that wasn't fair and quickly leaned forward to yank on one of Nori's loose braids. "Knock it off. Now is not the time to pick on your little brother," he scolded.

Nori rolled his eyes but thankfully turned his eyes back to the front. Bilbo felt stressed enough trying to keep Ori from stressing out even more; he didn't need a snide thief adding to the mess. Not for the first time that morning he wished Dori had been able to skip work and come along. Everything would have been much easier with the elder Dwarf around to boss his little brothers into being decent people.

When they arrived at the Jade District, they found it to be packed with excited Dwarves of all types. Nori had to elbow a way through the crowds to the grand building hosting the exam. There they found young Dwarves dressed in fine fabrics with their noses buried in tomes and scrolls lingering before a bronze doorway with guards. When Ori saw it, he blanched.

"I don't think I can do this," he said, glancing to Bilbo. He had dark circles under his eyes that were growing darker with every day, much to Bilbo and Dori's unease. "What if I fail? What if I make a fool of myself?"

Bilbo shook his head and clucked his tongue. "You'll be fine, Ori," he soothed, sliding his hand down Ori's arm to give his clammy hand a squeeze. "Just do the best you can. There's no point in making yourself sick with worry over an exam you can take again next year."

Ori nodded shakily, and gripped Bilbo's hand tight enough that he began to lose feeling. "R-Right. I'll do my best and then... then..."

"Go home and take a nap because you look like hammered shit," supplied Nori, looking a hundred percent done with the entire situation. "Now get in there, take the stupid test, and blow all these blue bloods away so we can go home."

Ori blinked a few times before huffing; looking for the first time in days like his normal self. "I'm telling Dori you made me cry," he stated before turning on his heel and marching off with a wave to Bilbo.

Bilbo waved back goodbye while Nori scowled at his side. "If he thinks I'm afraid of Dori he has another thing coming," the thief grumbled, crossing his arms over his chest.

Bilbo—who had seen Dori browbeat Nori into sewing lace doilies with him—simply hummed and kept waving. "Of course not."

"I'm not!"

"Mmm-hmm."

"I'm—why is Lord Balin here? This isn't his area."

Bilbo looked to who had grabbed Nori's attention, and found it was an older, shorter Dwarf with white hair, a friendly smile, and a strong jaw. He was dressed in fine red robes but wore little jewelry. He was surrounded by a few guards who escorted him through the crowds and into the building Ori had disappeared into.

"Who's Lord Balin?" he asked once the Dwarf in question had disappeared.

"The Minister of War," replied the thief, wearing a scowl. "He's Fundin's eldest sprog. Remember Fundin? The old bat that sentenced us?"

The healer thought back and made a face at the memory found. "You mean the one who looked at me like I was the village idiot when I offered to pay your bail?"

Nori smirked and nodded. "The one and only. His eldest spawn there took on his position as Minster of War after he got too old, and his second spawn is head of the Royal Guards. Very warrior focused family."

"What's a Minster of War do?"

"Wage war on people."

Bilbo elbowed the thief in the ribs. "Nori."

The thief rolled his eyes but dutifully explained, "He's in charge of Erebor's armies, seeing to the protection of the kingdom, leads the troops in battles—all those war things. He's like a nicer dressed general."

"So he's like that lady from the Ministry of Foreign Affairs?" the Hobbit wondered, trying to grasp the ideas behind it.

"Pretty much. They're even related—Lady Súna's husband is his cousin."

Somehow Bilbo wasn't surprised. "How many ministries are there?"

"I think about seven," replied Nori, running his tongue over his canines. "I can't recall all of them but I know there's one called the Ministry of Coin."

"Big surprise that's the one you remember," Bilbo mumbled as he rolled his eyes. "I'm going to head to work now. Are you planning to stay here and wait for Ori?"

Nori nodded. "Mmm. He'll need help getting home, the baby."

"Make him get some sleep when you two get back," he advised, poking the thief in the arm. "And please, try not to be _too much_ of an ass."

Nori held his hands up innocently. "I'll try, but if he pukes then it's in Mahâl's Hands," he warned.

"And if you really do make him cry then I'm leaving it up to Dori's hands," he retorted sweetly, and then skipped off with a laugh as the Dwarf behind him blanched.

Nori really was _too_ easy.


	12. Act I: The Nomad - Chapter Twelve

Disclaimer: I do not own any familiar characters/settings/plot featured in this story. They all belong to (most likely rolling in his grave) **J.R.R. Tolkien**.

* * *

**A**ct **I**: The **N**omad

**C**hapter **T**welve

* * *

With all his focus on Ori and his exam, Bilbo had forgotten about his invitation to meet with Princess Dís. That was why two days after turning down her request, he found himself surprised when Óin ambushed him before he even took one step into the clinic for his morning shift.

"We're going to the palace today," the older healer announced as he clamped one large hand on Bilbo's shoulder, and then proceeded to direct him down the road.

Bilbo groaned. "Again? Did another prince get sick?"

Óin raised a brow as his lips curled up into a smirk. "No. Dís wants to meet you, remember?"

He winced. "Oh. Right. Do I really have to go?"

"Yes, so stop making that face. It won't kill you to meet another member of the Royal Family," chided the Dwarf, tightening his grip on Bilbo's shoulder in warning.

"That's debatable," the Hobbit retorted with a pout. "I don't want to miss work for this. It will cost me valuable money that I should be making here."

"I'll pay you for your time. Now stop whining," ordered Óin, rolling his eyes.

"But it's not the same if I don't earn it—!"

"Stop talking, Rabbit."

* * *

Unlike his first meeting in the Crown Prince's chambers, Princess Dís chose to meet with Bilbo in her own private quarters in the East Halls. Óin led the way again and all too soon Bilbo found himself in a beautiful room decorated in gold, orange and red. Much like the rest of the palace, it was so fancy and richly crafted that it made Bilbo feel a bit sick looking at it all.

Sitting in the middle of the beautiful room were two Dwarves. The first he recognized as Princess Dís. She wore a long red dress decorated with sharp shapes and lined with black lace and small rubies that were polished so brightly Bilbo felt nearly blinded when he looked at them. Her rich black hair was artfully arranged on her head and beaded with more rubies and diamonds, and she wore enough gold bracelets to cover her forearms from view. At their entrance, she looked up and immediately zoned in on Bilbo with her blue cat eyes.

The second Dwarf was unfamiliar but just as eye-catching as the princess. Dressed in brown leather and green silk with diamond studs, he stood out more because he looked nothing like the Dwarves of Erebor. This Dwarf was not nearly as stocky as the natives and stood taller and leaner with a narrow waist. His blond hair was curlier and thicker than normal and shorn on the sides before being braided back into an interlocking X with a few loose braids hanging down his back. The yellow glow of his hair clashed well with his dusty brown skin and even darker brown eyes. He had a straight nose and a wide forehead and full lips that twisted back into a smile when he saw Bilbo.

"Hullo, Óin," greeted the unknown male, his words curbed by an accent Bilbo had not heard before. "Glad you could make it. Is this him?"

"Now why would I bring the wrong Hobbit?" wondered Óin, arching a fuzzy brow. "It would just make your vicious wife here try to stab me again."

"I wasn't really going to stab him," retorted the princess when her husband turned to give her a scolding glare that she turned her nose up against. "I was just venting at him."

"We talked about this: when you need to vent, turn to your knitting," soothed her husband.

Óin snorted. "Oh, great idea, Vílin, give her a pointy metal stick. That'll calm her down."

Bilbo let out a small cough in order to hide the giggles that were springing from his lips. Unfortunately it drew all attention back to him; a fate he was happy to avoid for as long as possible.

"I'm sorry, we're being rude here aren't we?" said the blond male, getting to his feet. "Let's try this again. I am Prince Consort Vílin son of Vígúlvur and father of Prince Kíli. Thank you for agreeing to meet with us."

Bilbo felt the Baggins Manners immediately kick in, and gave a bow to the royalty before him. "Thank you for inviting me, your highness. I am Bilbo Baggins."

Prince Vílin smiled; revealing surprising white teeth that stood out starkly against his brown skin. "Yes, I know. Thank you so much for helping Kíli. There are no words to express my gratitude for what you have done for my baby."

"But we can put a price on it," interjected the princess, looking as if she would like to roll her eyes at her husband but would never dare do something so plebian. "In repayment for your deeds we would like to reward you. What would you like as payment, Master Baggins?"

"Money," Bilbo answered instantly.

Princess Dís's painted red lips twitched. "Understandable. How much would you like?"

Bilbo mentally did the math. He still needed at least three hundred coins to make up for the money he spent on Nori's bail, but he also needed to repay Dori for his hospitality. Though the old Dwarf would never say it, Bilbo knew his presence was a strain on the 'Ri home's finances. An extra mouth to feed always was.

"I want six hundred," he said at last, deciding to keep half for his mission and give the other half to Dori. "And I want the guard who helped me to also be rewarded. Without his guidance I could never have aided the prince without him."

Prince Vílin nodded in understanding. "Of course. What was the guard's name?"

"Corin? Thorin?" Bilbo guessed, shrugging. "Something like that. He's tall, has long black hair, and likes to glare a lot."

The three Dwarves stared at him.

"Wait, what?" said Óin, rubbing both ears with his fingers. "Say that again."

"Oh boy," murmured Prince Vílin as he eyed the Hobbit with wider eyes.

"Thorin," the princess repeated flatly. "_Thorin_ helped you."

"Yeah, he did, so stop looking so surprised," he scolded, giving both the princess and Óin dirty looks. "He was really worried about Prince Kíli."

"We do not doubt his concern for our son," soothed Prince Vílin, glancing at his stone faced wife and gaping Óin. "No, what we find so shocking is that he... _cooperated_ with you. Thorin is not... the easiest person to get along with."

"Yeah, I noticed that. He kept snapping at me until I yelled at him to knock it off. After that he was pretty helpful even if he did keep glaring at me," he replied, rolling his eyes as he recalled the glaring guard. "Then again, I did use him as a stepstool, so I guess I can't blame him for that..."

"A... stepstool...?" the princess repeated slowly before breaking into hysterical laughter. The sudden fit had both Prince Vílin and Bilbo jumping and moving away from her.

"Bilbo, why didn't you tell me that Thorin helped you?" asked Óin, scowling down at his apprentice.

"Because I didn't think his name mattered?" he offered, still side eyeing the cackling princess. "Why are you so shocked? Is Thorin that bad of a guard? Because even though he's a brat he's still very dedicated to his charges. You should keep him around just for that."

Óin stared at him for a moment before closing his eyes and letting out a deep breath. He then said something in Khuzdûl to the couple, which Prince Vílin answered to as his wife had yet to get a hold of herself. Whatever the prince said had the old healer nodding firmly before storming out of the room with thunder in his eyes. Bilbo watched him leave, baffled, before looking back to the still cackling princess and sighing prince.

"What was that?" he asked, feeling lost.

"Óin has gone to speak with someone. He'll be back momentarily," Prince Vílin replied before gesturing to one of the elaborate silver chairs. "Please take a seat for now. Would you like some wine? And some almond cookies?"

"Yes, please," he replied automatically, never one to turn down free food even from suspicious strangers. He took a seat at the table between the royal couple, and eyed the still giggling princess as she regained some of her composure.

"Are you done?" her husband asked, raising a blond brow.

"For now," she replied, smothering the last of her giggles into one hand. "Give me a moment to get the image out of my head."

Prince Vílin rolled his eyes. "Please forgive my wife," he said to Bilbo, giving him an apologetic look. "I'm afraid she takes pleasure in the humiliation of others. I'm trying to break her of this habit but she is very stubborn."

"Oh. Well... good luck in that," the Hobbit replied, unsure how to respond to such a frank and revealing omission. Privately, he thought that taking pleasure in the pain of others was a sign of a potential dark lord in the making, but decided to keep his opinion to himself until he got his money.

Prince Vílin gave him a pleased smile that highlighted his round cheekbones. "Thank you. So tell me: what brings you to Erebor? I thought Hobbits stayed in the west?"

"We usually do but I came here for... personal matters," he replied vaguely, glancing down at the almond cookies the prince was pushing towards him. "Thank you. They look delicious."

"Best cookies you'll get this side of the mountain. My mother baked them fresh just this morning," bragged the prince, giving him a wink. "My sons love her deserts so she always sends baskets of them to the palace. Sometimes they'll even send her requests when they're really hungry."

"That's why they're spoiled little brats now," chimed in Princess Dís, finally regaining her composure. "Between you and your family and mine, it's amazing they haven't developed an ego the size of the mountain."

"It's because they have you around, love," reminded Prince Vílin, flashing his wife a small smile. "You keep them in line when the rest of us cannot."

Princess Dís sniffed, and raised her pointed nose in the air slightly. "Of course. It is a mother's duty to make sure her sons grow into proper Dwarrows of virtue. Failure in such an important task is simply unacceptable."

"And the father's duty?"

"To listen to his wife," she replied curtly before turning her gaze to Bilbo. The Hobbit couldn't help but stiffen when she did; feeling like a rabbit being eyed up by a lazy wolf who was still deciding whether or not to pounce. "So Master Boggins—"

"Baggins," corrected Prince Vílin, rolling his eyes.

"—how long do you plan to stay in Erebor?" finished the princess, completely ignoring her husband.

"Um, probably for the rest of the season and next," he answered, playing with one of the buttery treats before him. "I'll head back to the west when spring arrives."

The princess raised one finely shaped brow. "Is that where you make your home? In the west?"

"Hobbits do not have a homeland. We are nomads, your highness," Bilbo explained dully, smashing his cookie into a mess of crumbs with his thumb. He suddenly didn't feel so eager to eat the fine desserts offered to him.

Princess Dís tapped her polished nails against the table. "Really? What a shame. What of your business? Have you completed it yet?"

Bilbo was saved from answering the unnerving question by the sound of a door slamming open outside. The three all turned to look just in time to see their own door slam open as well; revealing a young Dwarf with unbraided black hair and a messy attire of purple robes and dark brown leather. It took Bilbo a moment to place the newcomer as Prince Kíli; the prince he had helped nearly a week before.

"You're late, Kíli," his mother said, looking unimpressed at the sight of him. "You know better than to keep your elders waiting."

Prince Kíli scrunched up his face at her as he pushed some of the wild curls from his eyes. "I'm not late! Just because _you_ don't have much time left in this world—"

"Boy, I brought you into this world and I can just as easily take you out—"

"Not in front of our guest, please," chimed in Prince Vílin, giving them a warning look over the rim of his tea cup.

Princess Dís sniffed again but Prince Kíli winced. "Sorry, Papa," he apologized before his dark brown eyes landed on Bilbo. When they did, his face suddenly lit up like the sun peeking out from behind a wave of storm clouds.

"Is this the Hobbit that saved me?" he asked eagerly, looking back to his parents.

His mother snorted. "No, we decided to invite a different Hobbit to the palace just for fun," she droned, arching one black brow.

Prince Kíli made another face at her. "You're a horrible mother. I want a reimbursement."

Princess Dís gave him a smile that could have cut stone. "Brat, if I could give you back, don't you think I would have done that by now?"

"Papa, why did you marry her again?"

"She didn't give me a choice," replied Prince Vílin, flashing his wife a smile that perfectly mirrored his son's. "She said I was the only Dwarrow she would have and then threw her bead at me."

"No one made you wear it," sniped back the princess, but something in her eyes seemed to diffuse as she looked at the other Dwarf. It was a look Bilbo recalled seeing in his own mother's eyes when she used to look at his father. For a reason he could not place, it made him feel rather sad to see it again in a stranger.

"Please stop. You're making me sick again," pleaded their son, cringing slightly before focusing back on Bilbo. "Hullo. I'm Kíli son of Vílin. Are you the healer who helped me?"

Bilbo nodded and got to his feet to give the young prince a bow. "Yes, Your Highness. Bilbo Baggins at your service. How are you feeling?"

"Much better thanks to you!" replied the prince, rushing forward to grasp one of Bilbo's hands in his own pair. "You saved my life with your investigation! If not for you, no one would have put my symptoms together, and I would probably still be sick and dying right now!"

"I'm sure it wouldn't have come to that," disagreed the Hobbit, wrinkling his nose. "Óin would have figured it out just as easily."

"You give the old fool too much credit," chimed in Princess Dís, crossing her ankles and leaning back into her seat. "Despite what he may claim, he does not know everything."

"Either way, it was a blessing to a have you here when you were, Master Baggins," added Prince Vílin before pointing to his son. "Kíli, come sit down. You know you're not even supposed to be out of bed right now."

"I feel fine," argued Prince Kíli even as he dutifully moved to sit between his parents. "Palli just likes to fuss. You should have never allowed him to become the Head of the Royal Healers, Mother. Worst idea ever."

Bilbo studied the young prince for a moment and found himself mentally agreeing. Prince Kíli had regained the color to his face and lacked the black circles that had once decorated his eyes. Even his brown eyes looked bright and aware as he eyed up the plate of cookies on the table.

"You may have two," said Prince Vílin, obviously catching onto his son's desires. "But don't tell Palli or I'll never hear the end of it."

Prince Kíli flashed his father a bright smile. "Thank you, Papa! This is why you're my favorite parent!"

Princess Dís gave her husband a look that said she was deeply regretting her decision to reproduce. "Is it too late to send him to your brother in the Iron Hills?"

"So how are you enjoying Erebor so far? Has it been difficult for you to adjust?" Prince Vílin asked, ignoring his spouse and son in favor of Bilbo.

"No, not at all," he quickly replied, shaking his head. "Erebor is very welcoming so it's been easy to find work and housing."

"Where are you living?" questioned Princess Dís, nudging a napkin closer to her son as he devoured one of his cookies.

"The Tin District," he answered. "I live with a trio of brothers who were kind enough to offer me shelter."

"The Tin District? That's on the Seventh Level right?" asked Prince Kíli, wiping some crumbs away from his mouth with the palm of his hand, much to the obvious disgust of his mother. "That's with the lower classes. You should move to the Fourth Level. They have much nicer homes and you'll be closer to Óin."

Bilbo quickly shook his head. "No, no, I'm fine with the Tin District. Besides, the Fourth Level houses nobles, correct? I am the furthest thing from a noble."

"It houses other classes too," said Prince Vílin, casting a considering look at Bilbo. "Merchants, for example, who have done well for themselves or scholars and lesser ranking officials. It really wouldn't be a problem for you to live there. It would certainly be safer than the Tin District."

As Princess Dís nodded her head thoughtfully, Bilbo clenched his jaw and raised his chin high. "While I am flattered by the offer, Your Highness, I have to decline," he said quietly, meeting the prince's brown eyes. "I like where I live now and see no point in moving to a level that would look down on me for my appearance and race."

Prince Vílin's eyes widened before understanding dawned on him; making his face soften until the fine lines in them disappeared. "Of course, Master Baggins. Forgive me for overstepping my boundaries. I meant no harm."

Bilbo nodded wordlessly, and glanced down at the porcelain plate before him. Through the mess of cookie crumbs, he could see his reflection perfectly, and wasn't surprised to see that he looked like a dark stain amongst all the finery of the palace. It was another reminder that he was very far out of his element.

When he looked back up, he found Prince Vílin studying him thoughtfully. When he met Bilbo's eyes, he smiled kindly and nudged the plate of cookies closer to him. "Please feel free to take some with you. If not, Kíli here may eat the rest."

"It's true," agreed the prince through a mouth full of cookie.

Princess Dís hissed and flicked her son's ear. "Don't speak with your mouth full."

In retaliation, the prince opened his mouth even wider between bites.

"This is why you have no friends," his mother remarked snidely before casting her blue eyes back to Bilbo. "Speaking of friends, Óin mentioned that the reason you had to refuse our previous offer was on account of a prior engagement. Is that right?"

"Yes, my friend is studying to become a scholar and he needed help preparing for his exam. It had been moved up closer and he was worried he wouldn't be able to pass with what he knows," the Hobbit explained, carefully choosing his words. He had a feeling that, even with Óin's support, the princess still wasn't very happy with his refusal.

"Ahh, that's right. Lord Anin was complaining about all the paperwork he had to do for it," commented Prince Vílin, rubbing the end of his beard.

"What's it for?" asked his son.

"It's in preparation for Dáin's upcoming marriage to Lady Hafsa of Orocarni to seal the alliance between his kingdom and hers," answered his mother, her mouth pinching into a tight line. She muttered something else in Khuzdûl and then drank some of her wine.

Prince Kíli furrowed his eyebrows and scowled while Prince Vílin sighed sadly and shook his head. The reactions made Bilbo raise his eyebrows in surprise. Apparently not everyone was pleased by the upcoming treaty nor the marriage that followed. For some reason he couldn't explain, he had a feeling their displeasure was focused more on the engagement than the actual alliance.

The strange and sometimes tense meeting continued on until Óin finally returned to save him from the Royal Family. When they finally left the palace, Bilbo let out a deep breath of relief and actually allowed himself to lean against Óin's arm for support.

"Were they that bad?" Óin asked with a laugh, wrapping a steady arm around his shoulders.

"Yes," he replied instantly, rolling his eyes to meet the older healer's gaze. "Next time, just toss me to the Orcs. At least them I can stab."

Óin just laughed again.

* * *

When Bilbo returned to the 'Ri home later that day, he was relieved to find Dori already home and preparing dinner. When he saw Bilbo, he gave him his usual warm smile and greeting.

"Welcome back, Bilbo. How was your day?" Dori asked, stirring a large pot.

"Interesting," he replied, digging though his bag for the satchel of gold he had divided out. "I was invited to the palace again today. Princess Dís and Prince Vílin wanted to reward me for helping their son."

Dori's white brows met his hairline. "Truly? What did they give you?"

"Money," he answered, finally finding what he was looking for. He pulled out the leather pouch and tossed it over to the Dwarf.

Dori caught it easily with one hand and tossed it up and down a few times. "Feels like a good amount. How much?"

"Six hundred in all but I split it in half." Bilbo held up his own pouch of coins to show. "This is my portion and that is for you."

Dori dropped the bag. It hit the table hard in a cheerful jingle. "E-Excuse me? What do you mean this is for me?"

"It's payment for all you've done for me these past weeks," he explained simply, scratching at the back of his knee with his other foot. "I know that my presence has cost you more than you can afford so this is to make up for it."

Dori stared at him silently for a long moment with a frown that made him look older. Finally he set his ladle on the table and then walked to where Bilbo stood. Then, before Bilbo could protest, the Dwarf pulled him into a tight embrace that pushed all the air from his lungs.

"My good lad," Dori said quietly into his hair, patting his back. "You are..."

Dori trailed off and tightened his grip even more until Bilbo was sure he had cracked a rib or two. Yet, despite the pain and lack of air, he found he couldn't make himself pull away from the Dwarf. Dori was warm and smelt like the spices he had been cooking with, and his hug brought back memories of another time. A time when Bilbo was young and his parents were still around to hold him when he was sad or scared, and make him feel that he was something precious and irreplaceable. Without much thought, he allowed himself to relax against the sturdy Dwarf, and simply bask in the feeling of nostalgia.

"Am I interrupting something? Because I can leave and come back later."

Dori sighed while Bilbo cast a glare at the smirking Dwarf standing in the doorway. "I should have sold him to those gypsies when we children," Dori muttered as he released Bilbo and stepped away. "Nori, stir the stew for me before it burns."

Nori rolled his eyes but still sashayed over to the pot. "So what's with the hug fest? You break a nail, Bilbo?"

Bilbo and Dori shared an eye roll before Dori snapped something in his mother tongue to his brother. Nori responded in the same language and then paused when Dori pointed to the bag of coins on the table. Nori looked at it, picked it up and squeezed it, and then dropped it back onto the table. He then looked up and proceeded to stare at Bilbo as if he had just confessed to be an Elven princess in disguise.

"What is wrong with you?" he said, looking Bilbo up and down with narrowed eyes. "I offered you our home to _make up_ for the gold you spent on bailing me out. _Why_ are you giving us even more?"

Bilbo sniffed, and raised his chin high. "You offered me a place to sleep, yes. But you didn't have to provide me food and water or help me find a job or offer me advice. You didn't have to be my friends but you did. So this is a way of me repaying that," he explained simply before quickly adding, "Not that I'm trying to buy your friendships, or anything. I'm just trying to help with the food I cost."

"You don't cost us anything, Bilbo," reassured Dori as he began to set the table.

Nori simply kept staring at Bilbo as if he had sprouted wings. "That is the stupidest logic I have ever heard. How are you even real? Are all Hobbits like you? Is this why the dragon took over? Did your grandparents try to make friends with it or something?"

"That... is actually pretty possible," Bilbo slowly admitted, thinking back to his Granny Took. She had been a very... interesting Hobbit. "But no, not all Hobbits are like me. My father's clan, the Baggins, don't much care for outsiders. Sometimes not even other Hobbits. One reason why I avoid them."

"You don't live with your father's clan?" realized Nori, sharing one of his mystifying looks with Dori. Bilbo still hadn't been able to figure out what they meant.

"No. I live with my mother's family—the Took Clan," he explained, deciding to save the look secret for another day. "They're the ones waiting for me back in Rivendell. Which reminds me—I finally have enough coin to hire my army. Now I need to find some mercenaries. Who would you suggest?"

Dori paused in setting down a bowl before continuing. "Um, Erebor doesn't really have any for hire," he replied, obviously avoiding Bilbo's eyes.

Bilbo turned to Nori, who met his gaze without fear. "What does he mean by that?"

"Mercenaries have been banned from Erebor for three-hundred years," answered the thief. "Ever since some prince tried to use them to take the throne from his father."

Bilbo's jaw dropped to his chest. "What? Why didn't you tell me that before? You know what I came here for!"

Nori rolled his eyes and pointed the ladle at him. "Relax, short stuff, you can still get your little mercenaries. You just gotta ask the right people."

"Come again?"

"What he means is that the only mercenary group you'll find here is operated illegally," explained Dori, finally finishing setting the table and moving back into the kitchen. "They're called the Blue Iron, and though they are against the law, they are an honorable bunch. They never kill if they can avoid it and they never go back on their word."

"They are also notoriously hard to track down," admitted Nori, stepping aside and allowing Dori to take over the stew once more. "I'll ask around for ya and see what I can dig up. But don't be surprised if it takes a good while."

Bilbo sighed loudly, and leaned back against the dinner table. "Of course it will. And just when I thought things were _finally_ going according to plan!"

"See, that was your problem: you're too optimistic. Gotta be more cynical like me," said Nori, reaching over to tweak one curl as he walked past the Hobbit. Bilbo huffed and tried to kick the thief but he avoided it with his longer legs.

"Ignore him, Bilbo. Everything will work out in time. You just have to keep going," encouraged Dori, giving him a kind smile over the pot of stew.

Bilbo nodded and took in a deep breath. He knew Dori was correct in his advice. He was almost there and he just had to keep working at it. Soon enough he would have the army he needed to take back to his family. He just had to be patient.

_We've waited a hundred years. A few more months won't hurt us now_, he reassured himself, and then turned his attention for the rest of the night on helping Dori with dinner.


	13. Act I: The Nomad - Chapter Thirteen

Disclaimer: I do not own any familiar characters/settings/plot featured in this story. They all belong to (most likely rolling in his grave) **J.R.R. Tolkien**.

* * *

**A**ct **I**: The **N**omad

**C**hapter **T**hirteen

* * *

"I passed my exam," Ori announced later that night at dinner.

Bilbo dropped his spoon in surprise while Nori whistled and Dori reached across the table to hug his baby brother. "Oh, Ori, well done! I knew you could do it!" he said, rubbing the back of Ori's head.

"Congratulations!" added Bilbo, leaning down under the table to pick up his spoon. "What place did you get?"

"Fourth. I came in fourth," Ori replied, halfheartedly pushing his eldest brother away.

Nori whistled again. "Wow, that's not bad at all. Did you get anything for it?"

"Well... sort of," Ori said slowly, shifting awkwardly in his seat and playing with his spoon. "See, Lord Balin, he came to the exam and sort of... picked me. To work under him. As his secretary."

Nori—in the middle of sipping his soup as if it was in a cup—snorted into his meal and nearly dropped the bowl. Next to him Dori went stiff and still. Even Bilbo couldn't hide his shock as he turned to face the young Dwarf sitting next to him.

"What? Why'd he do that? Isn't he head of the Ministry of War?" he asked, looking between the three brothers for confirmation. "Why would he bother with a scribe who's just passed his exams?"

"He is," Dori replied slowly, passing Nori a napkin while never looking away from his youngest brother, "so he should have his own army of secretaries already. He has no reason to pick Ori. Did he say why? Did he give any sort of explanation?"

Ori shook his head and shifted uneasily in his seat. "No. I only got this notice and a pass to visit him tomorrow at his office. I'm not sure how to feel about this."

"Is that why he was lurking around there that day? To pick a minion?" asked Nori, dabbing at his wet beard with the napkin.

"Yes. He came to watch the exam and personally spoke to every candidate there," explained Ori, wrinkling his nose. "I thought he was just being nice at the time... I never thought he was actually _evaluating_ us."

"Wouldn't a solider be a better assistant over a scribe?" Bilbo wondered.

Nori shrugged as he began to mop up the soup he spilt onto the table. "Meh. Who knows how these nobles think?"

"Interesting that he picked you of all people," commented Dori as his green eyes grew hooded. "What exactly did you say to him?"

"Nothing much, really," answered Ori, running his tongue over his teeth. "He asked me my name and where I'm from and how I felt about taking the exam early. I told him I was nervous and scared; he laughed and said that it was normal, and then went on his way. Completely ordinary."

"Did you try to suck up to him?" wondered Nori.

Ori flashed his brother an odd look and shook his head. "No? Why would I do that? He's not in charge of my department. He's not even _part_ of my department."

"No, but he is fifth in line for the throne, so most folk tend to try and get on his good side," said the thief, pointing his spoon at Ori. "You acting like your normal self probably left an impression on him."

Bilbo nearly choked on his own meal in surprise. "Fifth in line? Wow, he's that close to being king?"

Ori nodded as he began to scoop out the vegetables in his soup to transfer into Nori's bowl. "Yup. He's actually right behind Lord Dáin of the Iron Hills."

"Why is Lord Dáin a candidate? Doesn't he have his own kingdom?" wondered Bilbo, sharing an eye roll with Nori over Ori's antics. He knew that usually Nori would force Ori to eat his greens but was making an exception for once on account of his success in passing his exam. For all his teasing and mocking, Nori was just as bad as Dori when it came to spoiling Ori.

"It's because of his age and ranking," explained Dori, green eyes still hooded as he stared at the wall in thought. "Not only is he the eldest behind the King and Prince Frerin, he's also the only grandson of Lord Grór—King Thrór's youngest and most beloved brother."

Bilbo wrinkled his brow in thought. "And who was King Thrór again?"

"The current King's grandfather," Nori answered promptly.

Bilbo snapped his fingers as his memory finally caught up with him. "Oh! Right, him. So Lord Dáin was the last King's grand-nephew then? What about Lord Balin? How is he related to King Thrór?"

"Lord Balin's grandfather was the younger brother of King Dáin I, who was King Thrór's father," Ori answered promptly, moving on to Bilbo's bowl where he began to dump his potatoes. "His name was Lord Borin and was King Thrór's bodyguard and teacher when he was young, and his advisor when he was king. Rumor has it that he was more of a father to our king than his real one ever was."

"So that's why Lord Balin is favored now," connected Bilbo, pushing his bowl closer to Ori's so his task was easier. "I see. Lord Dáin was also favored by the late king because of his grandfather was King Thrór's favorite brother, yes? Is that right?"

"Yes. His name was Lord Grór and he was the youngest of the three sons of King Dáin I. King Thrór adored him and dotted on him constantly," answered Ori, green eyes lightening up as he spoke. Bilbo was beginning to think King Thrór was the scribe's favorite subject. "Whenever Lord Grór came to visit, he would throw huge celebrations across the kingdom that would last for weeks, and would pardon any criminal the day he came. He would even send an envoy of gifts to the Iron Hills for Lord Grór's birthday every year."

"He was like Dori but way showier," translated Nori, throwing his elder brother a smirk that was oddly ignored.

"When Lord Grór passed away, they say that King Thrór wept for days and refused to leave his room," Dori commented quietly while stirring his stew. "He passed away himself a year later once the grief became too much for his heart to bear."

Nori snorted. "More like the guilt and madness finally did him in."

Bilbo blinked in surprise and turned to Ori for an answer. "What does that mean?"

"He's talking about the Battle of Azanulbizar," translated the scribe, now reaching over the table to steal Dori's untouched roll. "Shortly before his death, King Thrór went to war with the Orcs of Moria in an attempt to reclaim the lost Kingdom of Khazad-dûm. In the battle Lord Grór's only son, Lord Náin, was killed and his grandson—that's Lord Dáin—lost his right foot. They lost the battle and King Thrór never forgave himself for costing his brother his only son."

"It didn't help either that the king had adored Lord Náin," added Dori, shaking his head sadly. "Lord Náin was fostered here when he came of age and even married a Dwarrowdam from here. Even Lord Dáin used to spend his summer seasons here as a child with the princes and princess. That's how much King Thrór loved his family."

Bilbo was beginning to feel bad for the deceased king. While he had no siblings to speak of, he did have his cousins, and they were as good as siblings in his view. He couldn't imagine how he would feel if he lost Fortinbras, Primula, Flambard, Adalgrim, and Sigisimond at once. Even worse was the idea that their deaths would be the results of his decisions. He didn't imagine how he could live with himself after such a tragedy.

"What about his other brother? What happened to him?" he asked though he had a pretty clear idea already.

"Prince Frór?" said Ori, blinking. "I'm not sure. I haven't read much about him. He died young."

"He died in Ered Mithrin with his father," supplied Nori, flicking a loose braid out of his face with two fingers. "Rumor is he wasn't very well-liked by people; not even his own family. Too arrogant and battle hungry. Big surprise he died trying to take on a cold-drake."

"What were they doing in Ered Mithrin?" Bilbo asked as he tried to recall which mountain the settlement was in. He was coming up with only a vague idea.

"Trying to reclaim the old Dwarrow fortresses from the drakes that live there," Ori answered promptly. "They gave up after King Dáin and Prince Frór were killed along with most of their forces. After that King Thrór decided to focus on just building up Erebor's wealth and power and forget the other Lost Kingdoms for now. He did a good job considering he turned it from a poor outpost back into a kingdom."

Bilbo nodded as he absorbed all the new information he had learned. He would have to start writing the names down soon because he couldn't just keep track of them all. "Why were their names different from their father?" he wondered, mashing up a potato with his spoon.

Nori raised a brow as he peered over the rim of his bowl he was sipping from. "What?"

"King Thrór and his brothers. Their father was named Dáin so why were they named Thrór, Brór, and Crór?" clarified the Hobbit.

"That's _Frór_ and _Grór_, Bilbo," corrected Ori, rolling his eyes.

Bilbo stuck his tongue out at the scribe. "Do I look like I care? Just answer my question."

"Because they were all stone-born. King Dáin never married so he made his heirs from the stone. Their new names reflected the start of new lines," answered Nori, standing up from the table and taking his empty bowl to the washing bin.

"How does that stone-born thing work? Do the sons they carve share any blood relation with their parent?" asked the healer, raising his voice slightly so the thief could hear him.

Dori blinked a few times and seemed to finally return to his normal self. "How do you know about the stone-born?" he questioned, raising a silver brow.

"I told him," Nori admitted bluntly as he began to wash his dish.

Ori gasped while Dori groaned and rubbed his forehead. "You know we're not supposed to share that with outsiders," the eldest 'Ri brother scolded, casting a dark look at his brother.

The thief simply shrugged the look off. "Why not? It's not like other races can steal the idea. Besides, it's _Bilbo_. He's not gonna tell anyone."

Dori didn't look at all convinced but didn't push it. "So is anyone gonna answer my question?" Bilbo wondered as the silence went on.

Ori blinked a few times before sitting up straight. "Oh! Right, the stone-born. Well, usually a Dwarrow will braid a lock of hair, cut it off, and then give it to the Keepers to create a child with their blood. If it's a couple they'll braid strands of their hairs together to create a son who will hold both their blood. Sometimes even more hair will be added and a child will be born with the blood of many lines. It's really up to what the parent wants."

Bilbo was beginning to feel the stirrings of a headache forming. "So a Dwarf can be born with _five parents_? Sometimes even _more_? What's the point of _that_?"

"It's a power thing," explained Dori, also getting to his feet and joining Nori in the kitchen. "The hope is that the child will inherit all the valued talents or gifts from his parents. It also creates bonds and alliances between families if they all share a child. It's kind of like marrying your children off to foreigners."

"Ugh, you Dwarves are so strange," complained the healer, leaning back into his chair and covering his eyes with one hand. "Just when I think I have you lot figured out, you throw something new at me."

"Why do you think we don't tell outsiders anything?" Ori commented, and then high jacked Bilbo's roll.

Later, after everything was cleaned and put away, Bilbo knocked softly on Dori's door at the end of the small hall. When he received an answer, he opened the door and peered in and found the old Dwarf sitting on his bed brushing out his long silver hair. To his surprise, he saw that it reached Dori's knees in perfect strokes. He had not realized how much straighter Dori's hair was compared to his brothers and the other Dwarves in Erebor.

"Bilbo," greeted Dori, pausing in his task to raise a silver brow. "Come in. Is there something wrong?"

Bilbo stepped inside and closed the door with his foot and held up a large clay mug. "I made you some tea. It's with chamomile flowers I got from the clinic. It's also good at helping you relax."

Dori blinked a few times before setting his comb down to take the chipped mug. "Thank you, Bilbo. That was very kind of you."

"You look like you need it," replied the healer, settling on the floor across from Dori with his legs crossed under him. "You were rather quiet tonight at dinner. Is anything wrong?"

Dori shook his head and blew at his tea before taking a small sip. "Hmm? No, no, I'm fine. I simply... have a lot on my mind is all. Nothing to worry about, dear. I'll have it resolved soon enough."

Bilbo frowned and tapped his fingers against his knee in thought. "Is it serious? Do you need any help? Because I can—"

He was interrupted by Dori as he broke out laughing. His broad shoulders shook and the lines in his face eased up while his eyes creased into kind smiles. The sight made the Hobbit lean back slightly while his eyebrows hit his hairline. He had never seen the oldest 'Ri brother laugh so unrestrained.

"Oh, Bilbo, do you ever stop worrying about others?" Dori eventually asked, wiping at the corner of his eyes. "It seems as if all you do is take care of the ones around you."

Bilbo pouted, feeling rather offended. "Don't you do the same? You raised your brothers and took me in."

"Ahh, but that's different. My brothers are my responsibility to look after as the eldest, and you are a dear friend who we originally owed a debt to," Dori countered, pointing a finger at the healer. "_You_ help anyone who comes into your path. See the difference?"

"I... But I have to help. It's the _right_ thing to do," he pointed out, frowning. "Why is that so hard for people to understand?"

"Because not everyone has such a strong sense for right and wrong," answered Dori, giving him a small smile over the rim of his cup. "Don't worry about it, Bilbo. Just keep being yourself. I promise that will be more than enough."

* * *

"Vóggur, stop whining before I give you something to cry about," Bilbo ordered his patient the next day as he lanced the last of his boils. "These aren't even that bad. I'm sure you faced worse injuries in combat."

"That's a different sort of pain," Vóggur said waspishly, trying to subtly wiggle away only to be pinched on the arm by the healer. "Ouch! Stop pinching me!"

"Then stop moving," retorted the Hobbit, smiling sweetly before jabbing the boil open. He ignored the curse that followed along with the stream of threats and pleads in both Westron and Khuzdûl, and focused on draining out the pus. He was nearly done when another healer—a female named Roda—stuck her head in and called out to him.

"Bilbo, someone is here to see you!" she said, flashing him a smile before ducking out.

"Oh thank Mahâl," Vóggur muttered.

Bilbo rolled his eyes. "Thanks you! I'll be right there!" he yelled back before turning back to his patient. "Vóggur, don't you dare move. If I have to track you down _again_ I'm gonna give you to _Óin_ to treat."

Vóggur immediately blanched.

Satisfied, Bilbo got to his feet and walked out to the front chambers where visitors usually waited. There he found a towering Dwarf dressed in familiar blue and gold armor with the top of his head shaved. He stood standing with his arms crossed over his chest; staring at a painting on the wall that depicted a group of Dwarves hovering over a dying king. Bilbo still couldn't figure out if they were meant to be helping the king or killing him.

"Can I help you?" he called when he grew close enough.

The stranger smoothly turned around to face the Hobbit, and then arched one black brow at what he saw. "So it _is_ you," he commented, his voice deep and gruff like a bear.

Bilbo blinked a few times. "Excuse me?"

"Don't ya recognize me?" asked the stranger, his brow going higher. "We met outside the city, back in Dale. Remember? With the Orcs?"

Bilbo studied the Dwarf closer and then snapped his fingers as his memory finally kicked in. "You... You're that Dwarf. Durnan? Darwin?"

"Dwalin. Dwalin son of Fundin," the Dwarf corrected with a nod. "And you are Bilbo Baggins. You are the healer who saved my... friend."

"Mmm. How is he? Did he get better?" asked the Hobbit, his concern rising. He had wondered from time to time what happened to the injured Dwarf from his early run in, but never got a chance to investigate.

Dwalin nodded as he slowly looked the healer up and down. "Yes, he's fine now. I took him to some healers and they fixed him right up."

Bilbo felt his shoulders droop in relief. "I'm glad to hear it," he said honestly, biting his lower lip. "So, um, how did you know I was here exactly?"

"Rumor in the upper levels is that a Hobbit saved Prince Kíli's life from a conspiracy to poison him with nickel. Wasn't sure if it was you but I figured it couldn't hurt to check, yes?" explained the Dwarf, shrugging his shoulders.

"They're telling rumors about me? Why?"

"Why wouldn't they?" countered Dwalin, his brow ascending again. "You saved a prince and revealed a conspiracy that sent the King on a bloody rampage when he learned of it. Surprised no one's come down here to drag you off."

Bilbo decided he didn't want to know where these so-called Dwarves would be dragging him off to. "That's probably thanks to Óin scaring them off with his growling," he replied, rocking back on his heels lightly.

Dwalin smirked. "I'm sure it is. Fucking scary old goat ain't he? How'd you even wind up working for him anyway?"

"I needed money," he answered honestly, titling his head to the side. "Óin's clinic was the first place I went to for work. They gave me three tasks to do, I did them and passed, and now here I am."

"Then I guess that means you'll be stayin' in Erebor for a good while," Dwalin commented, dark eyes narrowing slightly.

Bilbo narrowed his own eyes and leaned back from the Dwarf. "Maybe. Why?"

Dwalin never got the chance to answer as Óin came stomping into the room with a fierce scowl painted across his face. When he saw Dwalin standing there, his scowl grew even deeper and uglier.

"Dwalin," he said flatly, marching up to the taller Dwarf. "What are you doing here? Why is everyone suddenly bombarding my clinic? Should I expect a visit from Balin soon? How about Súna? Fundin? My _mother_?"

Dwalin rolled his eyes but carefully took a decent sized step away from the irritable healer. "Relax, Óin, I'm leaving. Just came to thank Master Baggins here for his services," he said, holding his hands up innocently.

Óin sneered. "Yes, yes, he helped Kíli, we all know. Dís and Vílin have already thanked him," he said, pointing to the doors. "Now get out and tell the rest of the family to leave _my_ clinic—and _my_ healers—alone before I put purgatives in your food again."

The corner of Dwalin's eye twitched before he schooled his expression into a blank mask. "You're a horrible person," he said to Óin before turning to give Bilbo a nod. "Until next time, Master Baggins."

Bilbo waved goodbye as the burly Dwarf left before turning to Óin. "Did you really put purgatives in his food?" he asked, torn between cackling and chastising.

"Yes," the older healer admitted bluntly, still glaring off in the direction Dwalin had marched off in. "You think I can take him in a fight? He's a head taller than me."

"And you two are related as well, huh?"

Óin snorted, and gave Bilbo a look he usually reserved for the haughty nobles who sometimes came sniffing around. "Of course we are. You think I would be so nice to a complete stranger?"


	14. Interlude I

Disclaimer: I do not own any familiar characters/settings/plot featured in this story. They all belong to (most likely rolling in his grave) **J.R.R. Tolkien**.

* * *

**I**nterlude** I**: **T**he **T**hief, **t**he **S**cribe, **a**nd **t**he **W**eaver

* * *

"I can't believe he did this," commented Dori, sorting through the solid gold coins with great care. They were newly made with no scratches or dirt on them and in the candle light they sparkled brighter than anything Nori had ever seen. It made his hands itch with the need to touch and hold, and he burrowed his hands into tight fists to fight back the impulse.

He was _not_ about to let his baser instincts take control. Not again.

"I believe it. Bilbo is very kind," said Ori, playing with one of his beads by flipping it in the air.

Nori snorted, and grabbed the bead out of the air before Ori could. "He's a fool that's what he is," he disagreed, ignoring Ori's whine and grabby hands. "He could have kept that money for himself. Bought himself some decent clothes or a fancy book to read. Moron."

Dori glanced at him from underneath his brows before looking back down to the coins. "In the month he's been here, has he ever bought himself anything of that sort? Or even gave any sort of hint that he wanted to?" his brother commented lightly as if he didn't already know the answer.

Nori knew it too, of course. Bilbo wasn't exactly the most complicated person to understand. He was hard working and loyal and so fucking _kind_ and _good_ that it hurt to look at him. Nori had never met anyone so noble before in his _life_. It was like Bilbo had stepped out of a fucking story book on heroes and heroines. He knew his brothers saw it too, and were just as blown away as him. Kindness without motive wasn't exactly common in their lives. They were all used to being tricked or screwed over by others. Even by their own mother.

"Bilbo doesn't have any parents does he?" wondered Ori, trying to grab back his bead. Nori easily elbowed his arm away again and then poked Ori in the ribs with his free hand; making the younger Dwarrow break out into a fit of giggles.

"No. From what he's told us they seem to have passed away," replied Dori, ignoring them like he always did. Dori liked to think that Nori's teasing was cute and brotherly and not just him being an asshole. Nori didn't understand why he insisted on lying to himself. "He mentioned an uncle and his clan but nothing more. He's essentially on his own."

Nori felt something like a stone settle in the pit of his stomach. "He's too young to be on his own," he muttered, flicking Ori's bead at his face. His baby brother yelped, tried to catch it, and failed horribly. Embarrassing. He was gonna have to start throwing shit at Ori again until he got better.

"Mmm. But he doesn't have much of a choice does he?" Dori said, giving him a mildly scolding look but nothing else. "No parents or siblings to lean on—what else can he do but take care of himself?"

Nori couldn't say. He had been luckier in that regard. "I wish he'd be a bit more selfish. It's not right being so noble all the time," he commented, watching Dori finish counting the coins out into separate pouches. He knew one would be going to the debt collectors in the morning but the other he had no clue. Dori knew better than to share the location with Nori.

He easily ignored the stab of shame that came with that hard truth. Past fuck ups weren't worth pinning over.

"I don't think he knows how to be," said Ori, returning to flipping his bead in the air. "He's been giving to others all his life that it's just normal to him now. I think the only way he'd think of himself first is if others did it for him."

"I agree. Perhaps it's time someone thought about him for a change," Dori said airily, standing up from the table with his two pouches in hand.

Nori leaned back into his chair, and eyed his elder brother carefully. "What are you planning you old hen?" he demanded bluntly.

Dori waved a lazy hand at him. "Nothing for you to be concerned over. Put out the fire when you're done. Ori, try to be quiet when you go to bed. Bilbo works early in the morning."

Ori nodded obediently as Dori glided off for his room. Nori just glared. "He's gonna try and adopt Bilbo," Ori commented once Dori was gone.

Nori snorted, and high jacked his little brother's bead again. "Wouldn't put it past him."


	15. Act II: The Rogue - Chapter One

Disclaimer: I do not own any familiar characters/settings/plot featured in this story. They all belong to (most likely rolling in his grave) **J.R.R. Tolkien**.

* * *

**A**ct **II**: **T**he **R**ogue

**C**hapter **O**ne

* * *

"So how goes the healing business?" asked Bofur as he shoved a clay mug into Bilbo's hands, and then took a seat across from him.

"Busy," he replied, nodding his thanks to the miner before taking a sip of his cheap ale. He immediately made a face at what he found. "This taste like dirty bathwater."

"You really shouldn't be drinking your bathwater, bubs. Not good for ya," replied Bofur, wiggling his brows at the Hobbit before taking a sip of his own bathwater.

Under the table, Bilbo kicked the miner lightly in the knee. "I hope you choke on it," he mumbled before braving another take of his drink.

Bofur just grinned. In the month since they met, Bilbo had come to learn that Bofur—while being protective over his family and friends—never genuinely got upset over anything. Like water on a duck, everything seemed to slide off of him without any trouble. It made Bilbo both respect and envy him.

They were meeting at the Stone Bell, which had become a weekly occurrence since their first meeting. Usually they were joined by Nori and Bifur to drink, chat, and play cards that Bilbo always lost at. For a race that was usually very obvious, the Dwarves had excellent stone faces when gambling.

"Bilbo, ya don't have to drink it if ya hate it that much," Bofur commented, watching Bilbo's face in obvious amusement as he swallowed down another mouthful of dirt water.

Bilbo shook his head vehemently. "I'm not wasting it, Bofur, it cost you money."

"So? I'll get more of it."

Bilbo kicked the miner in the knee again. "Just shut up and let me drink it."

Bofur sniffed and leaned back into his chair. "Fine. But if ya get the runs don't say I didn't warn ya."

"I won't," he said stubbornly, and then deliberately changed the subject. "How is Hatice doing?"

"Better," said the miner, his face softening like always when he spoke about his niece. "Hamide has been rubbing that mixture on her gums like ya said so she's not cryin' as much anymore. Still droolin' and bitin' everything though."

"That's normal for teething babies," he reassured. "She'll probably be doing it for the first few years as all her teeth set in. Just keep rubbing the tonic on her gums and give her something to bite on, and she'll be fine."

Bofur nodded. "Got it. Thank Mahâl ya around for this 'cuz the rest of us don't have a clue how to care for babes. Hamide nearly broke down into tears when she couldn't get Hatice to stop cryin' that first night."

Bilbo wasn't surprised. Hamide—as he had come to understand—was a Dwarrowdam who was still trying to recover from the horror done to her at the hands of the slavers years before. Though she no longer flinched and shied away from him, she was still very skittish around Bilbo and the 'Ri brothers, and never tried to speak to anyone outside her family. Bofur had even admitted that while she wasn't as bad as before, she still rarely ever left the house in fear of strangers, and sometimes still had hysterical fits over simple mistakes or accidents. It was truly a horrible way to live, and thinking about it always left Bilbo feeling a mix of sympathy and fury on her behalf.

"Ya know a lot about babies. Ya got a lot of siblings?" asked Bofur, moving onto a safer subject. Bilbo had noticed that Bofur never liked to linger too long on the state of his sister-in-law. He had a feeling it was because the miner felt helpless when faced with her demons. Unlike Bombur—who could soothe an angry bear back to sleep—he couldn't do much for Hamide other than distract her with humor, which didn't work too well when one was screaming.

"No, I'm an only child," he answered, accepting Bofur's silent wish to move onto an easier subject, "but I grew up in a clan with lots of cousins so I'm used to being around babies."

Bofur leaned further back into his chair until he was balancing on the back legs. "That must be nice to have so much kin aroun' ya," he commented wistfully. "Makes me kinda jealous."

"You don't have any family back at the Blue Mountains?" Bilbo asked, watching the Dwarf carefully incase he fell back in his chair and cracked his head open.

"Some, but they're distant kin at best," admitted the miner, nudging his hat up as it slipped into his eyes. "Ma and pops died during the Red Fever along with Bifur's ma. Our grandparents passed away from it too, and Bifur's brother died in a mining accident years before. We're really all that's left."

"I'm sorry," Bilbo said, wincing in sympathy. He hadn't been around for the Red Fever when it hit the Blue Mountains, but he had treated patients with the illness. It was a horrible disease and a painful way to die. "Does Bjarte have any family left?"

Bofur nodded as he took another swig of his ale. "Aye, an older sister and his da's brother, I think. Haven't spoken to them in years though. They... didn't really approve of his marriage to Bifur."

Bilbo wasn't surprised. Why he personally liked Bifur, he could also see why he would be off putting to others. "Why?"

"Well, they wanted him to marry this Dwarrowdam over Bifur," explained Bofur, scratching at his dirty nose. "That way he would have spawn, ya see?"

He shook his head in disagreement. "No, I don't. What about the stone-born? Couldn't they just do that?"

Bofur's eyes went wide and he leaned forward in his chair until the front legs hit the ground in a loud smack. "How ya know about that?" he hissed, leaning over the table and into Bilbo's face. He was so close that the Hobbit could see the faint freckles dotted across his cheeks.

"Um, Nori told me," he admitted quietly, leaning back from the Dwarf and looking away with a guilty flinch.

Bofur snorted. "Pff. Of course he did," he muttered, moving back from Bilbo's personal space and back into his chair. He pointed a stern finger at the Hobbit and ordered, "Don't tell anyone else ya know that. Ya'll get Nori and yourself into trouble."

"I won't, I promise," he vowed, holding up a solemn hand. "Now continue please."

"Yeah, well, Bifur and Bjarte could have a son through the stone, but it would be from their blood, and, well, we ain't exactly the best stock ya know? Bjarte's family didn't want that. They're a higher class than us—merchants—and didn't think Bifur was good enough for Bjarte. Even threatened him with disownment if he didn't marry the dam they chose," Bofur explained, his mouth curling down an inch before he suddenly perked up again. "But Bjarte wasn't scared. Told them to go jump off a bridge and married Bifur the next day."

Bilbo laughed, honestly impressed by such a bold display. "Wow, his family must've been mad when they found out," he said before forcing another mouthful of his so-called ale down.

"Absolutely pissed!" crowed Bofur, grinning widely with his dimples on full display. "They cut him out then and there. Not that Bjarte gave a fuck. He just wanted to be with Bifur, ya know?"

He didn't, actually, because he had never been in love, but he could imagine what it was like after watching his parents dote on each other for years. "I admire Bjarte for his resolve. To turn away from so much just for his love... that could not have been easy."

"Maybe for others, yea, but not Bjarte. Bifur been the center of his world since they were this high," Bofur said, making a line with his hand and placing it right by his knee. "For him, choosin' Bifur wasn't even a choice."

"How did they meet if they're from different classes?"

"Bifur's pa was a washer who used to clean clothes for the upper classes. Bjarte's family was one of 'um. He used to take Bifur with him to work and somehow he got to playin' with Bjarte. After that, they were pretty much stuck together," explained Bofur, shrugging.

"How romantic," he mused, tapping the rim of his cup before a new thought had him perking up. "Hey, have you ever heard of the Blue Iron?"

Bofur hummed and began to play with the ends of one of his braids. "Mmm. A merc group right? Whatta about it?"

"I need to find them but I don't know where to look," Bilbo explained, leaning closer and lowering his voice slightly. "Nori promised to get me a meeting with them, but I don't want to have to burden him with that. He has enough to worry about."

Bofur frowned. "Why do ya need to find them?"

Bilbo scoffed as he finished taking another sip of his ale. "To hire them for a job, _obviously_, why else would I be looking for them?"

Bofur reached across the table and flicked him in the nose. "Yea, I got that, but what _kinda_ job is it?"

The Hobbit batted his hand away. "I'm trying to create an army to fight the dragon that took over my homeland a hundred years ago," he said, giving him a mocking glare.

"Dragon? Oh, ya mean Smaug!" realized the miner, banging a fist against the table. "I heard about that but thought it was just a myth. Ya saying it's true?"

"Unfortunately," he muttered bitterly. "He ran my people out of our land and made it his own. We've been working and saving up enough coin to buy an army to take it back. That's why I came to Erebor: to buy soldiers."

Bofur didn't speak for awhile after that. Simply drank his filthy bathwater disguised as ale and stared at Bilbo thoughtfully. When he finally did speak, his voice was deeper than usual, and his face sterner than normal. "Listen, I don't know nuthin' about the Blue Iron or how to find them," he explained, leaning forward slightly with his voice low, "but I'm pretty sure that _Bifur _does."

Bilbo blinked a few times, unsure if he had had heard that correctly. "Bifur? How would he know?"

"It's a long story," said the miner, waving a flippant hand. "I'll ask him tonight and tell ya what he says. Deal?"

"Deal," he replied, giving a firm nod. "And... thanks, Bofur. For doing this."

Bofur winked, and leaned his chair back again until it was on two legs. "Don't worry about it. It's what friends do," he said, flashing his dimpled-grin.

* * *

"I have a job for you," Óin told him the next day at the clinic.

"I have a job, remember? You hired me for it," Bilbo reminded, not looking up from the lunch Dori had packed him. The Dwarf made lunches for his brothers and Bilbo every night whether they wanted them or not. Bilbo had finally given up on insisting that he didn't bother and accepted Dori's mothering act. It was, oddly, nice to experience.

Not that he'd ever tell Dori that, of course.

Óin lightly smacked him in the back of the head. "You're such a brat," he said fondly, taking a seat next to the Hobbit on the bench. He then shoved a leather bound book into Bilbo's face without a hint of shame. "Here. This is for you."

Bilbo sighed, and set his lunch to the side in order to take the book. "What is this?"

"The record book for the plants from Orocarni," replied Óin, stealing an apple from his lunch. "It's the newest shipment we got in. I want you to go through it and make sure everything is there before securing them in the vault."

Bilbo raised his brows as he skimmed through the book that was—oddly enough—written in Westron. "Milkwort, forkfern, ebony tree bark—these are all very rare and expensive herbs," he realized, turning to his boss. "Are you sure you want to trust me with something so valuable?"

"Yes," replied the older healer around a mouthful of apple. "I trust you to handle the task to the best of your abilities. I know that you'll get it done on time and sufficiently."

He nearly dropped the book in surprise. "You trust me that much?" he said, staring at the Dwarf sitting next to him as he ate his stolen apple.

Óin nodded; relaxed and completely oblivious to Bilbo's shock. "Of course. You think I would take just anyone along to help me treat Kíli? A beloved prince of the kingdom and my precious cousin?" he asked, arching one of his fuzzy brows. "Think again, Bunny."

Bilbo tightened his grip on the book until his knuckles turned white. He could feel something in his chest—tight and hard but warm, oh so warm—growing and spreading out through his body. He couldn't say what it was except that it reminded him of his Uncle Isengrim when he told Bilbo he was proud of him. He had never felt it around anyone else before, not even among his own clan, and yet around Óin...

Strange. It was so very strange. What the hell was wrong with him?

"Are you sure you wouldn't rather have someone who can write in Khuzdûl?" he asked, staring down at the smooth pages. "Wouldn't that be more fitting?"

"I'd prefer to have someone capable," rebuked the older healer as he took another large bite out of his apple. "I don't care about writing or social class. I just want it done correctly. Can you do that?"

Bilbo raised his chin in challenge. "Of course. I always give it all in my work. Anything less is simply unacceptable."

Óin smirked. "Good. Then it's settled: you'll see to the shipment."

"When do you need it done?"

"By the end of your shift today," said the older healer before pointing a knowing finger at Bilbo. "And don't worry about your patients; I've already assigned them to others for today. Just focus on the plants."

Bilbo sighed and gave a defeated nod. "Very well. Anything else?"

"Yes," said Óin, holding out his free hand with his smirk growing. "Pass me another apple."

* * *

It took Bilbo the rest of the day and well into the night to completely sort through the herbs and put them away. When he was finally done, most of the day staff had left, and the night staff was arriving to watch over the patients. He greeted them politely before looking over his own patients one last time before finally leaving the clinic.

The streets of the Amber District were quiet and nearly empty at night. The only people he saw about were the guards patrolling and the merchants heading home from work. It made Bilbo rather uncomfortable to see the normally bustling streets dead and dark. It just did not fit the usually lively district.

It was due to the dark and quiet streets that Bilbo noticed the group of four Dwarves dragging a large sack between them. At first he didn't think anything of it; assuming that it was simply grain or wool that the Dwarves were carrying home. It wasn't until one of them tripped and dropped the sack that he stopped and did a double take.

_That... that was a __**hand**_, he realized, grabbing onto a nearby pillar and ducking behind it. He watched closely as the four Dwarves shuffled around the fallen bag before two of them finally heaved it up between them. Then, with the other two looking around, they set off again towards the staircase that led down to the lower districts. Bilbo watched them go before setting off himself; keeping a good amount of space between them and ducking behind pillars whenever they paused to scan the area.

_What are they up to?_ he wondered, squatting behind an empty booth as the group stopped again to readjust their grip on the sack and check the area. The Dwarves didn't _look_ suspicious in their common clothes and casual jewelry. Indeed, they looked very normal and average; easily blending in with the background and any crowd that could form. But it was that very normal air that made the hair on Bilbo's feet rise up in alarm.

So wrapped up in his study of the suspicious Dwarves, he failed to notice someone walking up to him until two fingers tapped him on the shoulder. He jumped and spun around in shock; biting his tongue and nearly tripping over his own feet in the process. Holding a hand against his chest, he glared at the smirking lurker, and nearly punched him in the face.

"You—what are you doing here?" he hissed.

Thorin—the grumpy guard from the palace—raised an eyebrow as he stared down his pointy nose at the Hobbit. He was dressed in a new set of finely made leathers and had tied his long hair back into a high ponytail.

"Working," the guard retorted, crossing his hands behind his back. "What are you doing out here so late?"

"Leaving," he replied promptly before faltering and glancing over his shoulder. "Actually, I _was_ leaving the clinic until..."

"Until...?"

Bilbo gestured for Thorin to squat down next to him, and then pointed to the group moving down the street. "See those four? I think they're up to something. I think they're carrying a body in that sack."

Thorin blinked a few times. "A body. You think they're carrying a body through the streets. Where everyone can see. In a district filled with patrolling guards."

Bilbo scowled, and had to curb the urge to elbow his companion in the chest. Thorin's leather armor looked tough and he did not feel like bruising his arm against it. "Yes, that's what I said. I saw a hand fall out when they dropped it."

Thorin still didn't look convinced. "So why didn't you call the guards? Why are you trying to _follow_ them?"

Bilbo scoffed. "Are you kidding me?" he said, flashing a look of disbelief at the Dwarf. "What do you expect the guards to do? I'm a lowborn outsider; they're not gonna listen to _me_! And even if they did, what if I'm wrong and it's not a body? Those Dwarves could accuse _me_ of trying to get them into trouble, and then I could be thrown into prison."

Thorin frowned and leaned back slightly. "They... They wouldn't do that," he protested, but his tone told a different story.

"You know that for certain?" the healer retorted, raising his brows.

Thorin scowled, and looked over to the suspicious Dwarves before turning back to Bilbo. "Still, you shouldn't try to challenge four grown Dwarrows on your own. They could seriously injure someone of your size in a fight," he said, changing the topic.

Bilbo snorted and nearly laughed. "I've been fighting _Orcs_ since I was a babe. I think I can handle them."

"Why were you fighting Orcs—?"

"Because they try to eat my kind," interrupted Bilbo, standing up straight. "Now shut up and leave me alone. They're getting away!"

Without waiting for a reply, he sprinted off for the next column as the Dwarves proceeded down a flight of stairs. He waited until he was sure they couldn't see him before creeping after them. Halfway through his dash he realized he was being followed himself.

"What are you doing?" he hissed at Thorin as they ducked behind another pillar. "Why are you following me?"

"Because you're in over your head," replied the guard, looking down his nose at Bilbo.

"I don't need your help—"

"You need all the help you can get."

Bilbo scoffed. "Oh, like you're one to talk!" he said, poking the Dwarf in the chest with one finger. "You guards couldn't even figure out what sort of _metal_ you had floating around in the palace! What kind of Dwarf doesn't know that?"

Thorin scowled as his cheeks began to color a mix between pink and purple. "The kind that spends his day fighting to protect his home for his fellow Dwarrows and outsiders like you!"

"From what? The occasional bumbling Orc? Or how about murderous citizens—oh shit, where did they go?!" Bilbo spun around and frantically tried to spot the Dwarves but found no sign of them.

"It looks like they're gone," Thorin stated obviously.

This time Bilbo didn't resist the impulse to elbow the guard in the ribs. "Thanks to you!" he growled as Thorin grunted from the impact. "You're the worse guard in the kingdom! How did you ever get your job?"

"Inheritance," replied the Dwarf, rubbing his side and taking a tactful step away from the healer.

"Wow, what a surprise," scorned Bilbo, still searching for any sign of the suspicious group. He finally gave up with a huff and leaned back against the pillar behind him with his arms crossed over his chest. "What a waste. Someone could be dying or dead now and we won't ever know. Damnit!"

"If someone is missing, it will be reported to the guards and they will search for them," Thorin pointed out, pushing some of his braids out of his eyes.

Bilbo looked up at the Dwarf in disbelief only to find that he was completely serious. "You really believe that don't you?" he realized, examining the firm press to Thorinʻs lips and his straight shoulders.

"Why wouldn't I?" the Dwarf retorted, arching a dark brow. "The guards exist to protect and serve the people of Erebor. If one of those citizens disappears, then they have a duty to find them."

"Even if that citizen is a nobody from the gutters?" wondered Bilbo.

"Yes," Thorin said firmly without hesitation. "Erebor protects all of her children regardless of blood or rank."

Bilbo didn't buy that for a minute, but didn't have the heart to correct the guard. Thorin looked so honestly convinced that his words were true that it felt... wrong to break him of that faith. And while Bilbo knew he had a good deal of bad traits, cruelty was never one of them.

"Well, there's nothing I can do now," he announced, pushing himself off the pillar and standing up straight. "I'm heading back. Goodnight, Thorin."

Thorin held up a hand and stepped into his path before he could slip by. "Wait! Dwalin told me that you... you are the one who saved me."

Bilbo blinked a few times, feeling completely lost. "I did?"

"Yes, back in the forest? Outside of Dale?"

It took Bilbo a moment to make the connection, but when he did, he felt his heart jump in joy. "It was you!" he cheered, nearly throwing his arms around the guard but restraining when he saw Thorin take a step back. "You're really okay! I mean, your friend told me you were, but it's always better seeing it for myself! I'm so happy."

Thorin raised another eyebrow as he looked the beaming Hobbit up and down. "You... You really _do_ care about your patients," he commented with something like wonder in his voice.

Bilbo rolled his eyes. "Of course I do," he said. "Just as much as _you_ care about protecting the people of Erebor."

Thorin's eyes went wide, and he nearly took another step back in obvious surprise. Bilbo didn't know why the Dwarf was so shocked. Was it really so rare to find a healer who wanted to see his patients healed? Had he not met Óin before? Because if there was anyone who cared more than Bilbo about the wellbeing of his patients, it was the grumpy old Dwarf.

"I owe you a reward for saving my life," announced Thorin after a minute of silence. He stood up straighter and folded his hands behind his back, and looked down at Bilbo with bright blue eyes. "Tell me what you desire most in the world and I will see it fulfilled."

Bilbo nearly snorted and then covered his mouth to muffle the giggles that escaped. "I don't think that's going to happen," he said after getting his laughter under control. "I don't have any wish you can fulfill."

Thorin frowned, and drew his shoulders back even higher. "I don't believe that. Surely there is _something_ you want."

"Of course there is. But it's nothing within _your_ power to give me," he explained with a shrug.

Now the guard looked amused. "You'd be surprised at the extent of my influence," he said, the corner of his lips quirking up into a half-smile. "Now tell me."

Bilbo shrugged, and leaned back against the pillar with his arms crossed. "Fine. I want to defeat the Dread Dragon Smaug."

Thorin just stared. "Come again?" he said slowly.

"You heard me: I want the power to kill a dragon," the healer repeated, smirking.

Thorin kept staring with his mouth open. "Why?!"

"Because he stole my homeland and drove my people out," explained the Hobbit, unable to stop the frown that came to his face as he thought about his family's history. "I want to beat him and reclaim the land of my ancestors. If I can do that, then my people would finally have a home to go to."

"I don't think I can grant that wish," the guard admitted quietly, studying the healer with a nearly unblinking gaze.

Bilbo shrugged again. "I wasn't expecting you to," he reassured. "I don't expect anyone to grant me that wish so easily. Instead, I must fulfill it myself."

"How?" wondered the Dwarf, tilting his head to the side. "You're so small and weak. How could _you_ defeat a dragon all on your own?"

"By purchasing soldiers from across the land to fight him for me," Bilbo replied promptly, feeling a bit annoyed by the 'small and weak' comment but deciding to ignore it. "My clan has been saving up coin for decades to hire an army to fight for us. I've been given the duty of finding these warriors."

Thorin's eyes widened. "You? But you're so young! How could they send you out alone?"

"My clan cannot afford to send out more than one for this mission," he explained simply with a shrug. "We need every able body to work to earn coin so we can survive. Plus, our numbers are low enough as it is. Sending out more people is a risk of loss we cannot afford. Hence, I alone was given the mission, and here I am."

Thorin kept staring at him with a frown. Bilbo couldn't begin to imagine what was going on in his head. "I don't recall any Hobbits coming to ask us for help," he eventually remarked.

Bilbo snorted. "That's not a surprise. My people don't really trust the Dwarves of Erebor."

"What? Why not?" the guard asked, both brows rising to his hairline.

"Let's just say that your ancestors weren't very kind to my ancestors," he answered airily, pushing himself off the column again. "I really do need to leave now. If there's nothing else...?"

Thorin slowly shook his head. "No. No, there's nothing more. I... I simply want to say thank you for saving my life. Thank you, Master Healer."

"Bilbo."

Thorin blinked. "Excuse me?"

"My name," he repeated, turning his chin up to meet the guard's eyes, "is Bilbo. Bilbo Baggins."

The Dwarf slowly nodded. "Of course," he murmured before raising his voice, "And I am Thorin Oakenshield. At your service."

Bilbo laughed, and patted the guard on the arm as they began to walk back up the staircase together. "And I at yours, Corin."

* * *

I just remembered that this story is supposed to have romance so... here you go?

**Silver pup**


	16. Act II: The Rogue - Chapter Two

Disclaimer: I do not own any familiar characters/settings/plot featured in this story. They all belong to (most likely rolling in his grave) **J.R.R. Tolkien**.

* * *

**A**ct **II**: **T**he **R**ogue

**C**hapter **T**wo

* * *

When Bilbo arrived to work the next morning, the first thing he heard were whispers.

"What happened?" he asked one of his peers—a darker skinned Dwarf named Aín who possessed stunning gray eyes—once he noticed all the noise.

Aín turned to him with his dark brows raised high. "You didn't hear? Lord Eikar was found murdered last night," he said, his deep voice obviously surprised.

Bilbo just raised his brows back. "And who was Lord Eikar?"

"He was in charge of the Ministry of Stone," explained another Dwarf healer—Hethin who had one brown eye and one blue and could hold an entire conversation by himself—in an excited rush, "and he was one of the highest ranking nobles in the city. He was a Firebeard _and _a Stiffbeard and his brother was the famous General Eikin. His father's mother's sister, Lady Barba, even married into Durin's Line—that's Lord Óin's own grandmother!"

Bilbo nodded, and hoped he looked suitably impressed by such feats. From Aín's smirk though he had a feeling it wasn't passing. "Why would anyone murder him? Was he a jerk or something?"

Hethin shook his head frantically; causing his braids to whip through the air like black snakes. "No, that's just the thing—Lord Eikar was considered a Dwarrow of integrity! He was very well liked and respected by everyone in Erebor! That's why this is such a shock. Who would ever want to hurt such a noble soul?"

Bilbo could think of a few good reasons—and he was sure Aín could too—but didn't have it in him to crush Hethin's innocent ignorance, and so decided to keep his mouth shut for once. "I can't imagine, Hethin," he said instead, shrugging.

Aín threw an arm around Hethin's shoulders and tugged him closer until he fit under Aín's arm. "I'm sure it was some jealous scab with no morals," he told the much shorter Dwarf. "The Office of Investigations won't let this go. They'll catch the criminal soon enough, you'll see."

Hethin nodded even though his brows were still scrunched up and his mouth was turned down. "I know they will. It's just so sad! Lord Eikar didn't deserve to die like that!" he wailed before burying his face in Aín's shoulder.

"How was he killed?" Bilbo wondered, trying not to roll his eyes at Hethin's dramatics and Aín's pleased smirk. He didn't understand why Aín couldn't court Hethin like a normal person instead of acting like an overly concerned friend. Was it really so hard to tell someone that you were in love with them?

"They're saying he was poisoned but it's hard to say," Aín answered as he stroked Hethin's black braids. "They found him last night at the bottom of the Oxen Staircase."

Bilbo frowned and tried to recall where the staircase was. "That staircase leads to the Copper District right?"

Aín nodded. "Yes, that's right. It's odd, really. Lord Eikar lived in the Emerald District and worked in the Jade District. He had no reason to be going down to the lower levels unless he was planning to leave the mountain."

Bilbo mentally agreed. The Copper District was the district that housed the front gates that led out of the mountain and to the road to Dale. Unless he was planning to leave Erebor in the middle of the night, there was no reason for a noble to be wandering about the lower levels.

_Could they be connected?_ he wondered as he recalled the suspicious Dwarves he had seen the night before. It was possible, but he couldn't be sure since he had only been able to follow them to the end of the Amber District before he lost track of them thanks to Thorin. Plus Erebor was a big kingdom; what were the odds that the suspicious group he saw were involved with the murdered noble?

"Óin wants to see you by the way," Aín remarked as he not so subtly sniffed at Hethin's hair because he was a weirdo as well as a coward. "He looked pretty frazzled when he came in. Said to tell you to come to his office as soon as you get here."

Bilbo wrinkled his nose. "Was it angry-frazzled or stressed-frazzled?" he asked.

"Stressed-frazzled," confirmed Hethin, peeking out over Aín's bulging bicep. Bilbo was pretty sure it was the same size as his thigh. "I think something happened because he was yelling at Fulla earlier."

"That's not new; he's always yelling at Fulla," Bilbo said absently as he tried to think of a reason why his boss was in a mood so early in the morning. "No one likes Fulla. He's a two-faced worm who only cares about himself."

Aín snorted into Hethin's hair while the smaller Dwarf cackled. Bilbo bid the two farewell after that, and quickly made his way to Óin's office in the center of the clinic. He knocked twice and then entered the room when he received a positive-sounding grunt from inside. There he found Óin flipping through a book with a scowl on his face. When he saw Bilbo standing in his doorway, he waved him in.

"Rabbit! Sit down! We need to talk," he ordered, pointing to one of the seats across from him.

Bilbo did as ordered and settled into one of the ivory chairs. "What's wrong, Óin?"

"Did you finish unpacking the shipment last night?" the elder healer demanded, tossing his book to the side.

Bilbo winced at the disregard to such a valuable treasure but didn't call his boss on it. Óin was obviously not in the mood. "Yes, of course. Why?"

"Because they were ruined," replied Óin, his scowl stretching into a snarl. "I found the vault open this morning and the herbs crushed and ripped up."

"What?" Bilbo gaped, his brain scrambling for an answer. "But that's impossible! I put them all away and double checked it all last night before I left—let me see it!"

Óin nodded and gestured for the Hobbit to rise and follow him to the room that acted as the main storage in the back of the clinic. It was a large, circular chamber filled with plants, minerals, different forms of water, and anything else one might need to heal. In the back of the massive chamber sat a smaller room with a locked door that only a few people could open. Óin was one of them, and as of last night, so was Bilbo. The door now sat wide open with a trio of Dwarves moving in and out carrying the crates that Bilbo had so meticulously gone through the day before.

He rushed past Óin and the other Dwarves and into the vault that housed the most expensive and rare herbs. There he found all the shelves and storage containers as he had left it—all except the shipment from Orocarni. Instead the crates lay open with the plants he had so carefully tended to thrown about; ripped apart and stomped upon. There was nothing left of use in them now.

Bilbo couldn't believe his eyes. "I don't, I..." He spun around to face the old healer watching him from the doorway. "Óin, you know I wouldn't have done this! There has to be a mistake!"

Óin nodded; his mouth twisted down and the muscles around his eyes tight. "I believe you, lad, I do," he replied, crossing his arms over his chest. "But I need proof. Figure it out and then get back to me. If not, then I'm going to have to cut your pay to pay for the costs of the herbs."

He felt his stomach drop to his knees. "But I need that money to send back to my clan!"

"Then prove your innocence," Óin returned evenly, looking unfazed by his tone. "Look, I like you, Bilbo, I really do, but I can't be playing favorites here. Fix this or I have to dock your pay. Understand?"

He did, unfortunately. "Yes, sir."

"Good. Now go tend to your patients for today. You won't get any new ones until you clear this up. That should give you free time to figure it out," ordered Óin, turning on his heel and marching out.

Bilbo could only grit his teeth and bow his head. "Yes, sir."

* * *

"What's wrong, Master Healer?"

Bilbo jerked up and blinked rapidly for a moment. "Excuse me?"

His patient—a masonry named Nalthrasir who had got caught in a fire a week before—raised his remaining brow as he stared at Bilbo. "I asked what's wrong," he repeated patiently. "You've been distracted all day."

Bilbo felt his face heat up in shame, and he quickly looked back down at the arm he had been re-wrapping. "Nothing important. I'm sorry for not paying better attention to you. It won't happen again."

Nalthrasir's brow simply arched higher. Half his face had been burned away in the fire; leaving behind a fair face that was half bandaged. The bandages did nothing though to lessen the power of his gaze. "That wasn't a reprimand," he said calmly in an even tenor. "I asked out of concern. Did something happen?"

The Hobbit couldn't help but flinch. "Yes, but it's nothing you can fix," he admitted, focusing on re-wrapping Nalthrasir's flayed arm. "Don't pay me any mind. I'll take care of it soon enough."

"Hmm." Nalthrasir drummed his fingers where they rested against Bilbo's knee. "That's not like you. You are usually unafraid to ask for help."

"From my fellow healers, yes, but not a patient in my care," he retorted, glancing up at the Dwarf before looking back down. "It's not your responsibility to worry about me."

Nalthrasir merely blinked his hazel eye. "Perhaps, but that doesn't erase my worry. Now tell me: what's wrong?"

Bilbo sighed as he finally tied the bandage off. "You're so stubborn," he muttered as he rose to his feet to lean over the Dwarf and fix his pillow. "Fine then. If you really must know, a shipment of herbs brought in yesterday were found ruined this morning. They were my responsibility so the blame falls on me."

"But you didn't do it," Nalthrasir said without question.

He shook his head and began to rummage through the table drawer next to his patient's bed. "No, I didn't. But they were still my responsibility so now I must either pay a fee for them or find a way to prove my innocence."

"Which you don't believe you can do," connected the Dwarf.

"Considering I have no leads? No." Bilbo finally found the comb he had been looking for and pulled it out before turning back to his patients; snapping his fingers a few times. "Sit up please. I need to brush out your hair and re-braid it."

Nalthrasir wordlessly obeyed. Much like his face, half of his dark hair had been burned away during his accident. All he had left now was a partly burnt mane of curls that he refused to cut no matter how horrible it looked. Bilbo had given up trying to convince him and now simply brushed it out and braided it back for him.

"Master Óin is a fair Dwarrow. He must know this was not your fault," commented Nalthrasir, tilting his head to the side slightly to give the Hobbit easier access.

"Master Óin must do what is best for the clinic," he shot back, gently untangling a knot of brown curls. "But he has given me a chance to prove my innocence. That is more than what some people have done."

Nalthrasir hummed. "Sometimes the success of one is the failure of another," he remarked quietly.

Bilbo paused and looked down to meet his stare. "What does that even mean?"

"It means to be careful, Master Healer," translated Nalthrasir, patting his wrist lightly. "You've caught the interest of some very powerful people, and there are consequences for that. Remember that in your future dealings."

* * *

Bilbo spent the rest of his day at work torn between despair at solving his latest dilemma and resignation to the money he would undoubtedly be losing in the future. It wasn't the first time he had been cheated, after all, and it certainly wasn't the first time he had been unfairly blamed for something he didn't do. But no matter how familiar he was with such crimes, it still didn't lessen the burn. It didn't help either that he found himself hurt by Óin's treatment. He knew logically that the older healer had no other choice but, much like his situation, it didn't lessen the hurt of being so easily dismissed.

It was a rotten day, all in all, and he was quite certain it couldn't grow any worse. Then he returned to the 'Ri home.

"What do you mean Nori's been arrested?!" he demanded, throwing his pack to the floor.

Dori—looking worn down and about a century older—merely rubbed his eyes. "I received word this afternoon from the prison. He's been arrested in connection to the murder of Lord Eikar."

"How?! Nori doesn't even live on the same level as him!" he said, stalking further into the home.

"Nori made a delivery to his estate sometime yesterday," explained Ori, who was scowling and pacing as he re-read a letter in his hand. "They say he killed Lord Eikar then—this is _so_ stupid! How can they arrest him based _only_ on this?! There must have been twenty people around at the time—wouldn't they have noticed Nori stabbing their stupid lord?!"

"Then has he been convicted yet?" Bilbo asked, looking between the two brothers.

Dori slowly shook his head. "Not yet. They're still investigating the case. Nori is simply the prime suspect," replied the old Dwarf, dropping his hand and opening his eyes. He looked tired and worn down like an old plowing horse. It made Bilbo flinch and look away; unable to stand seeing the normally strong Dwarf so beaten down.

"Where is he being held at?" he asked, looking instead to Ori.

"Boltwoodite," answered the scribe with a sneer. "It's a big prison and part of the Office of Investigations. They should still be open—we need to meet with Nori and get the full story. There has to be some way to fix this!"

"Will they let us meet with him?" wondered Bilbo, wiggling his toes. "If Nori is a suspect in a murder investigation then wouldn't they keep him locked away?"

"He's allowed visits as long as it remains supervised by the inspectors," replied Ori, tossing the letter onto the kitchen table. "He's only a suspect so they can't keep him from us. They can only do that if he's convicted."

"Can we go now? Is it still open?" the Hobbit questioned, still unsure that their visit would be tolerated.

"I don't know but I'm going to find out," Ori declared, pivoting on his heel and marching over to put on his coat.

"Bilbo, go with Ori," ordered Dori, drawing the healer's attention back to him as he slowly rose up from the table. "I... am going to speak with some people. Try to find a solution to all of... this."

Bilbo exchanged a look of surprise with Ori but still nodded to the old Dwarf's request. "Of course, Dori."

The Office of Investigations was held in the Steel District on the Fifth Level in the center of the district. Bilbo had not been back to the Fifth Level since his arrest on his first day in Erebor as it housed most of the soldiers and war offices that he had no business or interest in. But Ori had begun working there since he accepted Lord Balin's offer, and he marched through the district with ease and purpose. When they finally arrived at the Office of Investigations, the scribe didn't hesitate to stomp up to the nearest cleric and began to ramble off commands in Khuzdûl.

"You need to calm down," he told the Dwarf as the terrified cleric scampered off to presumably do as ordered.

Ori sneered and flicked his thick braid over his shoulder. "I am calm! Do you see me crying or yelling at anyone?"

"Not yet," Bilbo retorted with a sigh, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Look, just try not to lose your temper anymore. We'll be of no help to Nori if we end up in a cell next to him."

"They wouldn't arrest us here," protested the Dwarf, crossing his arms over his chest. "They would send us to Azurite Prison—the prison you were in last time."

Bilbo wrinkled his nose. "That's what it was called? How tacky. How many prisons are there in Erebor?"

"Seven," answered Ori as he began to tap his right foot and stare off to where the cleric had run off to. "Six are on this level and the last is beneath the mountain."

"Why are your people obsessed with the number seven?" wondered the Hobbit, also glancing off in the same direction. "Seven levels, seven ministries—what the hell?"

"It represents the Seven Fathers who started our people," Ori explained, never breaking his stare. "Mahâl created seven Dwarrows in the beginning and it is from those seven that the Seven Clans were created. That is why we use seven for everything and—finally!"

Bilbo rolled his eyes as the cleric returned with a guard dressed in black leather armor outlined in saffron. The cleric pointed to Ori and whispered something to the guard before disappearing again while the guard raised an eyebrow before calmly walking over to them. When he was close enough, he spoke to Ori in polite Khuzdûl with his hands crossed behind his back. The scribe in return snapped back in the same tongue while gesturing to himself and Bilbo.

"Be nice, Ori," the Hobbit ordered, reaching up to flick him on the cheek. "There's no reason to be rude here. It's not his fault Nori was arrested."

Ori scowled and slapped a hand over his wounded flesh. "How do you know I'm not being nice? You can't even understand what I'm saying!" he whined.

"Shouting doesn't require translation," deadpanned Bilbo, kicking Ori in the back of the knee. As the scribe fell, he looked back to the guard who was now watching them with a smirk.

"I apologize for his behavior," he said, giving a short bow. "We have come to see Nori son of Riika. Is he here?"

"He's here," the guard replied in Westron, his smirk growing. "You can see him after you sign in. Follow me."

After signing a ledger that the frightened cleric from earlier brought out, the guard led them further into the building and down a flight of stairs to the prison. There he led them past rows and rows of numerous Dwarves before finally stopping in front of one. Inside the small cell sat Nori on a bed of straw in a prison uniform dyed a plain gray.

"Nori!" Ori cried out in relief, his voice echoing through the narrow halls as he rushed up to the cell. Bilbo followed at a slower approach while the guard stood back and simply watched with his arms still crossed behind him.

Nori looked up through his messy hair in obvious shock. "Ori? And Bilbo? What are you two doing here?" he asked, getting to his feet and walking up to the bars.

"What a stupid question!" snapped his little brother, grasping the bars of the cell so tight that his hands turned white. "Why do you think we're here?"

"Obviously not to comfort me," shot back the thief, rolling his eyes. "Where's Dori? I thought he would be the first one here. I was even looking forward to hearing his lecture."

"He went to find someone else to bail you out," Bilbo retorted, standing at Ori's side with his hands in his pockets. "I'm afraid I'm out of money this time."

Nori's lips twisted into a mocking smile. "There's no bailing me out of this one, ducky."

Bilbo sighed. "I know," he said, studying the thief. Nori was paler than normal and looked just as tired as Dori had earlier that night. His braids had become undone and now fell in a mess around his face and beard. "Nori, what happened?"

"What does it look like happened? I was arrested for murdering some blue blood," the thief said, his mocking smile warping into a scowl. "It was supposed be just another job from Askur. Remember him?"

"The Dwarrow who runs the delivery service," confirmed Ori, nodding his head. "You play runner for him when he's booked. What job were you doing this time?"

"Delivering some plant called green dragon to Lord Eikar," Nori explained, leaning his forehead against the bars of his cell. "Lord Eikar ordered it from some healer in Dale and it arrived yesterday morning. I picked it up from Askur, took it to Lord Eikar's manor, and then left. That's it. I did nothing else."

Bilbo wasn't following the plot. "Then why were _you_ arrested?"

"Because the plant I delivered is what killed him," revealed Nori with a heavy sigh. "Green dragon root can be medicine or poison depending on how it's used and what I delivered was a poison. I know because I had to open up the box and show it to the guards to prove it was the right plant. He took it and died last night. Hence my arrest."

"But that wasn't your fault!" cried out Ori with wild eyes. "It was the healer who sent it to Erebor! Why didn't they question them?"

Bilbo turned to the guard standing behind them, and raised his eyebrows in silent inquiry. The guard shrugged and explained quietly, "They're looking for this healer or merchant who prepared the medicine in Dale right now, but so far nothing has turned up."

"And with my luck, it's going to stay that way," interjected Nori, closing his eyes and leaning completely against the cell bars. "I always knew I was going to prison but I thought it would at least be for something _I_ did."

Bilbo flinched at the thief's defeated tone. Seeing Nori beaten and broken was just as bad as seeing Dori worn and fatigued earlier. It went against their natures, and standing witness to it forced his heart to twist in on itself. He knew then that could not stand by and watch his friends suffer for something that should have never occurred.

"You're not going to prison!" denied Ori, green eyes flashing as he reached into the cell to take one of Nori's hands into both of his. "You're not going to suffer because of someone else's crime! I—no, _we_ won't allow it! Right, Bilbo?"

"Of course we won't," he confirmed, meeting Nori's green eyes and holding his stare. "We'll prove your innocence, Nori. I promise."

Nori simply gave them both a lifeless imitation of his usual taunting smirk. "Be careful there, ducky. I might just end up believing you."

* * *

The alternate title to this chapter was 'Bilbo Baggins and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day' but it didn't fit in the space provided.

**Silver pup**


	17. Act II: The Rogue - Chapter Three

Disclaimer: I do not own any familiar characters/settings/plot featured in this story. They all belong to (most likely rolling in his grave) **J.R.R. Tolkien**.

* * *

**A**ct **II**: **T**he **R**ogue

**C**hapter **T**hree

* * *

"I need today off."

Óin looked up beneath his heavy brows to give Bilbo a look that eerily reminded him of Princess Dís. "What?"

Bilbo took in a deep breath to steady himself, and repeated: "I need today off."

"What for?" the Dwarf demanded, setting down his quill and leaning back into his chair.

"Personal stuff," replied the Hobbit, trying his best not to twitch nervously.

"Personal stuff," Óin parroted back, "which means you're not looking into the expensive herbs that you allowed to be ruined?"

He shook his head slowly. "No. This is more important than plants. My friend is in trouble and I need to help him."

Óin didn't look like he agreed. "Do you really think you can afford to take time off with what happened here? Do you not understand the position you're in?"

"I understand that I may lose my job over this," he assured with a nod. "But it's a risk I must take. My friend needs help and he needs it now. I cannot afford to linger here trying to solve an accident we both know was not my fault."

Óin frowned and his brows furrowed together. "So you're not going to even try to prove your innocence?"

"What am I supposed to prove?" he shot back, holding up his hands. "That I did not ruin the plants makes no difference because in the end they were still _my_ responsibility. I should have taken better precautions to protect them from others. I should have locked them up better. I shouldn't have trusted that everyone here is honorable. So dock my pay for the plants or fire me if you really must. I will take any punishment if it means I can leave after this."

"I'm not going to fire you over this," the Dwarf admitted, his brows still furrowed together like two great mountains, "but I will have to dock your pay to make up for the herbs. I'm sorry, Bilbo."

He shrugged. "It's not your fault. You have to do what's expected."

Óin didn't look any happier to hear that that, but Bilbo hadn't expected him to be. "So may I have today off?" he asked instead, returning to the original reason he had sought out his boss in the first place.

"Is it even a question at this point?" retorted the older healer, arching one of his white brows.

Bilbo grinned back in victory. "Not anymore."

"When you come back tomorrow, report to me first. I have another task for you to complete," Óin ordered, curling the end of his beard around his fingers.

He snorted, and rocked back slightly on his heels. "You sure you want to trust me with that?"

Óin smirked thinly in response. "Oh, yes. _Quite_."

* * *

The first thing Bilbo decided to do was to investigate the staircase where Lord Eikar had been found the day before. It had been blocked off the day before as investigators searched it for clues, but it had been reopened that morning. It had returned to its usual busy routine as Dwarves of all types scampered up and down the staircase. Looking around, he realized with a sinking feeling that he wasn't going to be finding much with so many people around.

_There's a lot of red dirt on the floor_, he noticed as he walked back and forth at the bottom of the staircase. _I wonder where it came from. Do the Dwarves track it in from outside? Or from inside the mountain?_

"Master Baggins? What are you doing?"

Bilbo looked up and sighed at who he saw. "Thorin. What a surprise. What are you doing here?"

Thorin—dressed in plain blue robes this time and simple silver jewelry—raised a black brow as he walked down the stairs to where the Hobbit stood. He had tied all of his hair back high in a leather tie again but still kept his two braids that framed his face. "I suspect for the same reasons you're here: to uncover any clues to Lord Eikar's death," the Dwarf replied, jumping down the last few steps and landing in front of Bilbo.

The healer rolled his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest. "I haven't found anything yet but red dirt," he said, kicking at the floor and smearing some of said dirt on his bare feet.

Thorin looked down at the tiled floor before returning his gaze to Bilbo. "Looks like it came from Dale. They have red soil there."

"That's not very helpful. The dirt didn't kill Lord Eikar," he informed the guard before throwing his head back with a groan. "Ugh, I_ told_ you those Dwarves were up to something. You should have helped me catch them."

"I admit that you were right in your suspicions," said the Dwarf, his broad shoulders slumping slightly. "I should have looked at them more closely instead of dismissing your concerns. Perhaps if I had, Lord Eikar would still be alive."

Bilbo bit his tongue to keep from replying. He knew it wasn't fair to let Thorin bask in his guilt, but a larger part of him couldn't help but spitefully agree with the Dwarf. If Thorin hadn't stopped him, then Nori wouldn't have ended up in prison.

"Has the Office of Investigations found the healer or merchant from Dale yet?" he asked instead, changing the subject.

The guard blinked a few times before his blue eyes narrowed into slits. "How do you know about that?"

Bilbo scowled down at the dirty floor. "My friend is the Dwarf standing accused of killing Lord Eikar."

It took Thorin a moment to make the connection. "Your friend...? You mean the runner who delivered the herb," the Dwarf stated, eyes widening. "He's _your_ friend?"

He turned his scowl on the guard. "Yes, he's _my_ friend and he's innocent! Nori would never kill someone, and certainly not so obviously!"

"His criminal record tells a different story," the Dwarf retorted tartly.

Bilbo's scowl deepened as he stepped forward to deliver a solid kick to the guard's shin. "Screw you!" he spat as Thorin cursed in Khuzdûl and stepped away. "You don't know anything about Nori or what he and his brothers have been through! You never had to steal just to eat or kill to survive! You know nothing of their struggles or the struggles of hundreds of others just like them!"

"And you do?" Thorin huffed, rubbing his shin while glaring up at Bilbo.

He snorted and held out his arms. "Look at me," he said, lifting up the frayed ends of his coat. "I'm a nobody with no home to go to and a family that's dying. Of course I understand them better. I _am_ them."

Thorin looked him up and down slowly before sighing. "You are correct," he admitted, standing up straight and avoiding the Hobbit's eyes. "I apologize. I should not have said something so cruel and thoughtless. Not about my fellow citizen of Erebor—someone I am meant to serve and protect from these sorts of things."

"Your job is to guard the _princes_," Bilbo rebutted, cocking his brows in surprise. "That sort of duty doesn't really extend past the palace."

"No. My job extends to _all_ of Erebor's children regardless of class," the guard declared firmly, blue eyes going steely. "Now come; let us see if we can find a way to help your friend."

"I don't know what else I can do that the investigators haven't already done," he admitted, tilting his head to the side. "They've spoken with everyone involved and are trying to hunt down the person from Dale. What else is left?"

"Well, you are a healer are you not?" Thorin questioned, crossing his hands behind his back.

"Yeah. So?"

"Then why don't you examine the body of Lord Eikar? Perhaps there is a clue there," suggested the guard.

Bilbo snorted. "And how am I supposed to do that? I don't even know _where_ the corpse is."

Thorin grinned. "You may not know, but _I_ do."

* * *

"It must be nice to be able to go wherever you please," Bilbo commented later after watching Thorin speak to a guard in the Office of Investigations and show him a diamond shaped pass made of gold with a white tassel. It resembled the one the Crown Prince had handed him that day at the palace, but held different looking runes chiseled into the center.

Thorin smirked lightly as he tucked the pass away in his robes. "It does come in handy at times," he admitted.

"I bet," he muttered to himself, picking up his pace in order to keep up with the guard. "So why are they keeping the body here exactly?"

"Part of procedures. They're inspecting it for any clues," explained the Dwarf, weaving through the halls with ease. "It shouldn't be too far from here. They keep corpses downstairs."

The mortuary in the Office of Investigations was a dry, cold place with only black slabs of marble to house the bodies there. Bilbo wrinkled his nose at the smell of decomposing flesh, but did his best to ignore it as Thorin searched through the rows of bodies until he found the correct one. Once he did, he yanked back the white sheet to reveal the naked corpse beneath.

"Meet Lord Eikar," he introduced, shaking his head sadly as he gazed down at the Dwarf. "A Dwarrow of virtue and honor. I still remember when he became Minister of Stone. He was so proud that day. Such a waste of a good life."

Bilbo crept closer and took in the dead noble for the first time. Lord Eikar had been a middle-aged Dwarf with red hair threaded with white and a pleasantly round face dotted with the same moles and freckles he had seen on Óin. He looked peaceful in death; as if he had not suffered from being poisoned.

"I'm not quite sure what I'm looking for," he admitted, slowly walking around the marble slab while tracking his eyes over the corpse. "I don't even know what green dragon _is_. I've never even heard of it until last night."

"You don't recognize it?" Thorin said, his brows flying high. "Is it not a medical herb? I believe it treats coughs and such."

He looked up and made a face at the guard. "That still doesn't help. There are a dozen or so plants that do the same."

"Perhaps you know it by a different name?" suggested the Dwarf, crossing his arms over his chest. "Green dragon is what we call it in the east but I've heard it goes by another name in the west. Pinellia? Does that sound familiar?"

Bilbo nearly ran into the slab as he abruptly stopped. "Wait, _pinellia_? That's what it is?!" he squawked, eyes growing big.

Thorin nodded slowly as he rubbed the end of his beard. "I believe so. I've heard Master Óin refer to it as such—what are you doing?"

Bilbo ignored the guard as he dropped his pack on a nearby empty slab and began to dig through it. "I'm getting my proof," he replied, picking up a vial and opening it to take a sniff. He wrinkled his nose and re-corked it when the scent of salt hit his nose, and tossed the glass vial back into his pack.

"How are you going to do that?" asked Thorin, wandering around the slab to stand behind Bilbo as he continued his search.

"You'll see," he replied airily, picking up another vial and sniffing at it. He cheered when he realized it was the correct one.

Thorin leaned over the Hobbit's shoulder to get a better look at the green bottle in Bilbo's hand. "What is that?"

"Vinegar," he replied, holding it up for the Dwarf to smell for himself. Thorin immediately wrinkled his nose when he did, and stepped away.

"Vinegar? Why are you carrying _that_ around?" he asked, scratching at his pointy nose as if trying to claw the smell away.

"For the same reason I carry around charcoal—to help people," he explained, reaching up to poke the guard in the shoulder where he had been injured by the Orcs weeks before.

Thorin rolled his eyes and lightly batted his hand away. "And how is this going to help now?"

Bilbo grinned, and turned back to his pack where he began to search for a clean rag. "Did you know that pinellia must first be neutralized with ginger water before it can be used as medicine?" he commented, snagging a white cloth he usually used as a bandage. "The root is toxic so you have to soak it for a good while before you can even think of using it to treat people."

"Interesting. And this has to do with... what exactly?" wondered the guard, cocking a neatly groomed brow.

"The thing with ginger though is that it lingers on the plant even after being dried," he continued, ignoring Thorin's comment and dousing the cloth with vinegar. He then turned back to the corpse of Lord Eikar and picked up one of his hands and began to carefully rub the cloth it on the fingers. "Even when you touch it, the oil from the ginger will stay on your hands for a few days at least."

"I'm still not following..." Thorin trailed off in mid-comment, and stepped closer to Bilbo as the color of Lord Eikar's fingers began to change.

"What in Mahâl's name... they're pink. His fingers turned _pink_. Why did they turn pink? _How_ did they turn pink?" he demanded, looking between Bilbo and the corpse and back again.

Bilbo held up the bottle of vinegar. "It's because of this. When ginger touches vinegar it changes into a light pink color. Hence the pink fingers," he explained, waving the corpse's now pink hand at the guard.

Thorin just stared with his blue eyes large and his mouth hanging open. "I've never—how do you know that?" he asked, looking the healer up and down as if trying to find a visible answer to his demand.

"My father taught me," he replied, smiling slightly. "He was a cook so he knew about these sorts of things."

Thorin could only shake his head. "Still, to know such tricks..."

The Hobbit ignored the guard and gathered up his bottle of vinegar and cloth. "If I use this on Nori, his fingers will likely turn pink too since he had to touch the plant to show to the guards," he commented, hoisting up his pack and turning back to Thorin. "This will prove that the plant he delivered was _not_ poisoned—it had already been treated with ginger water."

"Which means that it wasn't the green dragon that killed Lord Eikar," connected the guard, nodding slowly. "His own hands prove this, and that means that something _else_ must have poisoned him."

"It could have still been pinellia," Bilbo pointed out. "It just wasn't the one Nori brought. Perhaps it was switched before Lord Eikar took it?"

The guard scowled. "An inside job," he growled, shoulders going rigid. "That's the only way it could have gotten in. All the servants and guards from Lord Eikar's estate must be rounded up—one of them must be the culprit."

Bilbo nodded in reluctant agreement. "So it seems. Who should we speak to about this? I want to get Nori out as soon as possible."

"The chief investigator for this case is Jarar son of Jallgrímur. I will speak to him and show him your proof," the guard said, holding out his hand for the vinegar and cloth. "Go wait in the common chambers for now. I will send your friend to you soon enough."

"Very well." He handed over the bottle and cloth to the Dwarf. "I'll wait for you too. I want my stuff back."

Thorin rolled his eyes and waved Bilbo towards the door. "It's _vinegar_. I think I'm above stealing such a thing."

* * *

Bilbo spent the next hour waiting anxiously for either Thorin or Nori to appear and give him some sort of news. Since his luck with these sorts of matters was generally shitty, it was Thorin who showed up first with his signature scowl on his face.

"Where's Nori?" he demanded as soon as he saw the guard, rising out of the padded chair he had been sitting in.

"Being discharged right now," replied the Dwarf, waving him to sit back down. "He needs to sign a few things and collect his belongings before they release him."

Bilbo relaxed slightly and flopped back into his seat. "That's good. Now why are you scowling again?"

Thorin's scowl grew larger. "Investigator Jarar has informed me that they found the seller from Dale," he explained, his tone deepening.

"They did? That's great!"

"No, it's not. He's dead," declared the Dwarf with all the solemnity of a grave keeper announcing that Great-Uncle Albert had actually still been alive when entombed. "They found the body this morning. It was from an herbalist named Haven."

Bilbo nearly fell out of his chair. "What?! How?!" he demanded, unable to believe what he was hearing.

Thorin sighed and rubbed his forehead with two fingers. "Someone broke in and slit his throat last night. The King of Dale has his men looking into it, but it's unlikely they'll find the culprit. There are no witnesses, and no one noticed he was even dead until the investigators came looking for him."

The situation was just getting worse. "What will the Office of Investigations do now? They still haven't caught Lord Eikar's killer."

"They'll keep searching, Bilbo," reassured the guard, flashing him an odd look. "Just because one lead is gone doesn't mean they won't find the murderer."

"Will they be keeping Lord Eikar's body still?" he asked, thinking back to the kind looking Dwarf laying on a cold piece of rock beneath them.

The Dwarf shook his head. "No. It will be turned over to his family to be buried now. The investigators have nothing more to gain from it."

"Did he leave behind a lot?" Bilbo wondered absently before adding, "Lord Eikar's family, I mean. Did he have children and such?"

Thorin stroked the end of his beard in thought. "His parents and only brother passed on, but his two sons are still alive, I believe, as are his brother's wife and their children. There is also their extended kin too which is quite large," he said slowly before shooting a questioning look at him. "Why do you ask?"

"I just feel bad for his family is all," the healer explained quietly. "Lord Eikar died so suddenly... it must have been a horrible shock for them all."

"You speak as if familiar with such pain."

Bilbo nodded. "Mmm. My mother... she died much the same way. In an accident, not a murder. It was... not easy to deal with at the time," he admitted quietly as he recalled that day so long ago.

It had occurred in the Fangorn Forest where his mother had been returning from gathering when she had slipped off a cliff and fallen into a valley below. It had taken them two days to find her crushed body lying among the clovers and wild daisies that grew there. Even now, years later, Bilbo could still remember how her beautiful face had looked; bruised and bloody and bloated in death. It had been a horrible way to die. It had been a lonely way to die.

"You have my sympathies. My mother has also returned to the stone," Thorin revealed quietly, his brows furrowed and blue eyes darkening with untouched shadows. "Her death though came from childbirth so it was not quite as... shocking."

Bilbo couldn't help but wince. "I'm sorry. Did your sibling survive?"

Thorin's lips tightened into a straight line. "He did not, unfortunately. He died only hours after birth. Our mother followed a day later."

"Oh. That sounds horrible. I can't imagine how you endured losing two precious people at one time," he confessed, recalling his own losses. His parents had died a year apart from each other so he had been given time to mourn and heal, but he had lost other family members at once in attacks or illnesses. However none of them had been as close as a mother and brother.

"It was not easy, but I managed. It helped that I still had my father and grandfather there to comfort me," explained the guard with a deep sigh. "My younger brother and sister were not so easily healed though. My sister in particular was devastated; she had always been very close to our _'amad_."

"'_Amad_?" he repeated, blinking in surprise at the word. "Was that her name?"

Thorin shook his head. "No. _'Amad_ means 'mother' in Khuzdûl," he clarified. "My mother's name was Arndís daughter of Báldís."

"Arndís? What a pretty name," he said, smiling slightly. It sounded like the name of a flower. "It sounds familiar too. Is it common?"

Thorin snorted as a small, secretive smile curled at the corner of his lips. "No. No, it is not."

* * *

Eventually an unknown Dwarf arrived to speak to Thorin, and after a few words in Khuzdûl, the guard left Bilbo behind with a quick farewell and a promise to meet again. Shortly after that Nori finally arrived; dressed in his own clothes once more with his thick hair braided back in a single braid. He still looked tired and was sporting circles dark enough to make a raccoon jealous, but he had lost the wounded look to his green eyes.

"Nori!" Bilbo cheered when he saw him, and quickly jumped to his feet to hurry over to the Dwarf. "You're finally here. I've been waiting for your release for hours!"

Nori gave him a weak smirk as he shoved his hands into his coat pockets. "Well, had to wait for them to give me back my stuff, and sign their stupid forms. Damn waste of time."

Bilbo snorted as he looked the thief up and down. "That it is. Are you hungry? Did they feed you while you were in here? You look skinnier from yesterday. Dori isn't going to be happy."

"They fed me. Just wasn't hungry," the Dwarf replied as he stared at him with murky green eyes. "So. You saved me again, huh?"

The healer cocked his eyebrows at the harsh tone. "Would you prefer I leave you to rot in prison?" he threw back in the sweetest tone he could.

Nori scowled. "I prefer you stop throwing yourself into these situations. How am I supposed to ever repay you at the rate you're going?" he demanded.

"Try not getting into trouble and I'll say we're even," the Hobbit replied, raising his chin high. "I'm not going to apologize for helping just to appease your ego, Nori. So just shut up, be grateful, and walk me home because this level is like a maze to me."

Nori just stared at him mutely for a minute before slowly reaching out to lightly grasp Bilbo's left elbow. Then, carefully, he pulled the Hobbit closer and wrapped his free arm around his shoulders. It was a gentle hug without any real pressure behind it; the exact opposite of what Dori's hug had felt like. It made Bilbo roll his eyes with a small huff, and throw his arms around the thief's lean waist; pulling him into a proper hug. Nori froze for a moment before slowly relaxing into the embrace. He even leaned down over the Hobbit and buried his face in wild brown curls.

"Sneaky brat," the thief muttered, rubbing his thumb over the joint of Bilbo's elbow. "You're such a cocky little _brat_."

The healer grinned against Nori's collarbone. In the month he had come to know the Dwarf, he had learned to pick out Nori's true feelings in his crass words and gestures. Teasing or mocking was his versions of affection, and pinches and smacks were his way of showing gratitude. It was a very childish way to behave but Bilbo was used to it. His cousin Adalgrim behaved much the same way.

"It takes one to know one," he retorted in a singsong voice, cuddling closer just because he knew it would make Nori uncomfortable.

That was why he wasn't too surprised when Nori pinched his arm and then later tripped him on the walk home.


	18. Act II: The Rogue - Chapter Four

Disclaimer: I do not own any familiar characters/settings/plot featured in this story. They all belong to (most likely rolling in his grave) **J.R.R. Tolkien**.

* * *

**A**ct **II**: **T**he **R**ogue

**C**hapter **F**our

* * *

"I still can't believe ya freed him using _vinegar_," stated Bofur that night at the Stone Bell. He stared at Bilbo across the table with clear astonishment painted across his face. "Really, where do ya get this stuff?"

Bilbo gave a one-shoulder shrug while next to him Ori beamed. "It's because Bilbo is amazing!" he bragged, sloshing some of his drink onto the table as he attempted to wave it around. "That's why he... he saved my big brother!"

On the other side of Ori, Nori rolled his eyes and nimbly plucked the cheap mug out of his brother's hand. "Annnd that's enough drinking for you," he said, ignoring Ori's whine and attempt to grab his drink back. "Anymore and you'll end up puking and making Dori worry."

"And he's done enough of that for one night," agreed Bjarte from Bofur's side, giving Nori a knowing wink over the rim of his own mug.

"It's not like I _ask_ to get arrested," grumbled Nori before drinking the rest of Ori's black, tar-like ale right in front of him.

"Dunno about that. I was with ya when ya cheated those Men out of their coin in cards," commented Bofur, wagging his brows at the thief with a smirk.

"It's not cheatin' if ya don't get caught," Ori disagreed with a small hiccup. "That's... That's... the rule."

"Wow. Great parenting there, boyo," jeered Bjarte while Bofur cackled into his drink.

On the other side of Bjarte, Bifur rolled his eyes, and muttered something low to his husband. Bjarte nodded once, and Bifur leaned across the table and knocked on it until Bilbo looked up at him.

"Come with me for a walk, lad," he half-ordered, nodding to the door. "Let these fools drink their piss-old ale. We'll come back for them after they finish throwing up their dinners."

Bilbo turned to the two 'Ri brothers at his side. Ori was trying to steal Bofur's ale (and failing) while Nori was arguing with the miner about what constituted as stealing. He snorted and got to his feet. "After you, my friend."

Bifur smirked, and raised Bjarte's hand to his lips in a quick farewell—which earned him an eye roll in reply—before also rising to his feet and followed Bilbo out of the tavern. Outside of the Stone Bell, the air was quieter and cooler as night had descended upon the mountain. Fewer Dwarves wandered the streets and the lanterns had been lit as the nightly patrols started their rounds. It was one of the calmer times that were rare within the usually bustling city, and Bilbo savored the peace and quiet of it all.

"So," Bifur began as they walked side by side down the street to the center of the district. "Bofur told me ya interested in finding the Blue Iron. That true?"

Bilbo nodded and stuffed his hands into his pockets. "Yes. He said you would know how to get me a meeting with them. Is _that _true?"

"Mmm." Bifur nodded as he pushed a loose braid back into place. His black hair was pulled back into different sized braids and layered in wide loops around the back of his head and around each other. "I asked around and got ya a meeting tomorrow night with an informant. Ya interested in going?"

"Yes, of course," he said, turning to look up at the Dwarf in surprise. "That was faster than I thought. Thank you, Bifur. How did you do it?"

The miner shrugged his ample shoulders. "I got some contacts in the city. They asked around for me."

"Contacts," he repeated skeptically, giving Bifur a side-eye. "Right. Would Nori know of these contacts?"

"Probably. Little fucker likes to get into trouble don't he?" pointed out the Dwarf, smirking for a moment before it faded into a more serious expression. "Look, I'll be honest with ya. I used to run with some... dangerous folk back in Ered Luin. Not proud of it now, but it is what it is. I left most of it behind in Ered Luin but I still keep an ear out for news just in case."

Bilbo nodded as he absorbed this new bit of information. Though he hadn't been expecting such news about his friend, he also wasn't too shocked. It wasn't the first time he befriended a former criminal, after all, and even some current criminals.

"Did this group have a name?" he finally asked as they arrived at the center of the district. It was a fountain composed of stone and iron and acted as both a place to wash clothes and socialize. As it was late though no one was gathered for either task, which suited Bilbo just fine, as it gave him the chance to jump up on the fountain's edge and walk around it.

"Mmm. They're called the Shadow Blades," Bifur replied, taking a seat on the edge and watching Bilbo hop around.

Bilbo snorted and flashed Bifur a judging look over his shoulder. "Shadow Blades? Really?"

Bofur rolled his eyes and splashed some of the water at the Hobbit. "Shut up, I didn't pick the name."

"Was Shadow Thieves taken then?" he retorted, twisting out of the way and avoiding the water. "How about the Scary Dwarves in the Dark? That one work?"

"Well, that'd be a bit misleading, eh? We didn't _just_ steal things ya know; we also sold illegal goods and killed people for money," corrected the miner, counting the deeds off on one hand.

Bilbo snorted. "I don't think that's something you should be proud of. So why did you leave them? Got tired of people laughing at you when you told them the name?"

Bifur shook his head. "Nah. They wanted me to do somethin' I couldn't," he explained vaguely, his jaw clenching and lips thinning into a straight line.

"They must not have liked that," he commented carefully, watching the Dwarf. This was obviously a sensitive subject for him.

"They didn't," the miner deadpanned. "But before they found out, I took my family and ran. That's why we came to Erebor, actually. To start over."

"Oh." Bilbo couldn't imagine how hard that must have been. His family had been forced to do it, after all, and they were barely surviving even decades later. "Was it hard? Leaving your home and starting all over here?"

"Kinda. Harder tryin' to outrun the fuckers they sent after us," Bifur explained, leaning back on one hand. "Those kinda bastards don't forget and forgive easily."

"That's a normal Dwarf trait," he pointed out, completing his circuit around the fountain and squatting down next to the miner.

Bifur splashed some water at him again. "So is smacking little shits," he teased as Bilbo squeaked in surprise as the cold water that his thigh and leg. "I'll take ya to the meeting with the Blue Iron tomorrow night. It's in the Lead District so wait for me at your job. I'll come and get ya."

"The Lead District?" he repeated, brushing the water off his skin with the sleeve of his coat. "I haven't been there yet. What's it like?"

"Dangerous. Most dangerous district in the _whole _kingdom," the miner said, pointing one finger at him. "Don't _ever_ go there by yourself. Always take me or Nori with ya or, hell, even Bofur. Just _never_ alone."

Bilbo raised his brows at the firm tone. He had never seen the Dwarf so serious before. "Why? What makes it so dangerous?"

"It's the heart of the underworld of Erebor," explained Bifur, his dark eyes hard as the rocks he mined. "It's ruled by gangs and assassins and thieves and every other lowlife ya can think of. Not even the guards dare to go down there."

The healer nodded slowly. While he had his doubts that the Lead District was too dangerous for him to handle alone—he lived in Gondor for a season, after all, and that was the most corrupt city in the world—he knew better than to say so to Bifur. The miner wouldn't believe him for a second.

"Guess we won't be sharing this adventure with Dori," he mused, rocking back and forth on his heels.

"No. Let's keep this our little secret," pleaded Bifur, flashing him a dry look. "I'd rather not get punched, thanks."

* * *

"This is a bad idea."

"Didn't ask for your opinion, Rabbit."

"Why do you make such bad choices? Did the last shipment teach you nothing?"

"It taught me that you're good at whining," Óin said, chucking a thick, leather book at Bilbo's face.

The Hobbit caught with a squeak and then glared at his boss over the top of the book. "Are you trying to catch whoever destroyed the plants last time?" he demanded, resisting the urge to throw it back at the Dwarf's mouth. "Because I have to warn you, it's not going to work. These types of people won't pull the same move twice."

"I would hope not. Destroying all our tonics and tinctures would cost us a lot of patients," commented Óin, rubbing the end of his braided beard. For once he had combed it out and tied it off in one thick rope down his chest.

"This is the worst idea you have ever had," Bilbo declared, pointing a finger at the Dwarf. "Putting me in charge of accounting the medical supplies is only going to end in _disaster_. Do you want that for the clinic?"

"I'm going to put some guards in charge of watching the stock room," Óin continued, blatantly ignoring Bilbo and his reasonable worries. "We'll see if this helps keep unwanted visitors out tonight.

Bilbo groaned and lifted the ledger to bang it against his forehead. "Why. Don't. You. _Listen_," he whined, hitting his head with every bang.

"If you knock yourself out, I'm not carrying you to a bed," warned his heartless boss, crossing his arms over his chest.

He stopped but only so he could stick his tongue out at the Dwarf. "I'm saying this now so I can throw it back in your face later when it backfires: I think this is a bad idea."

"Duly noted," replied Óin, rolling his eyes. "Now if you're done with your dramatics, get to work on the stock. I want all tonics, poultices, tinctures, teas, and elixirs accounted for by tonight. I've given care of your patients to others for today so don't worry about them. Anymore questions?"

"Just one: why did you really pick me to do this?" he asked, holding up one hand to stall Óin when he opened his mouth. "I'm being serious now. I've screwed up once before. Aren't you afraid I'll do it again?"

Óin snorted and shook his head. "No. I know it wasn't you who ruined the herbs, Bilbo," he confessed, leaning back against the edge of his desk.

"Then why—"

"Because I don't know _who_ this act was against," he interrupted Bilbo, narrowing his blue eyes. "Look, lad, those herbs were worth a lot of coin yet instead of taking them to sell in the lower levels, they were destroyed. It was a deliberate message left behind for someone and I don't know _who_. So until I figure it out, I need you to just listen to me and do as you're told. Understand?"

Bilbo bit his lip but nodded. "Do you think they're dangerous?" he questioned softly.

Óin shrugged one shoulder. "It's possible. It could be for a grudge against me or you or anyone else in the clinic—but it could also be deeper. Those herbs were from Orocarni and the signing of the treaty between the Iron Hills and Orocarni will be soon, so it could be a warning against that. If that's true then it's even more important for me to find this fool."

"I didn't think of it that way," he admitted, hugging the book to his chest. "I didn't even make the connection to the treaty. Are there really a lot of people against it?"

"Somewhat. There are bigots who look down on the people of Orocarni and think that Dáin is ruining his bloodline by marrying one," said Óin, rolling his eyes to show what he thought of that. "But others are afraid of what this union will bring to the Iron Hills. They already have the strongest army out of all the Dwarrow kingdoms, and now an alliance with one of the richest powers in the east? That makes them very leery."

Bilbo wrinkled his brows in confusion. "But I thought that Lord Dáin has a good relationship with Erebor? Wasn't his grandfather related to the last king or something?"

"Yes, King Thrór was his grand-uncle," confirmed Óin, nodding slightly. "That allows Dáin a legitimate claim on Erebor and that makes some people here nervous. But considering our history ofparricide, it's not an unfounded worry."

"Do you believe it? That Lord Dáin would try to take Erebor?" he wondered, tilting his head to the side.

Óin hesitated for a moment before slowly shaking his head. "No, I don't believe he would ever try to take Erebor to gain the throne or her wealth," he said carefully, and Bilbo immediately narrowed his eyes at the words he didn't say.

"But you do believe he would invade Erebor for _something_," he said with a hint of accusation in his tone as he studied his boss. "Is that right?"

Óin gave him a dirty look. "Yes. I believe Dáin would challenge Erebor if it stood in his way _**but**_—," he added, emphasizing the word and giving Bilbo a warning look, "—I also believe he would do so with any other kingdom that threatened him. Erebor would just get a courtesy warning beforehand."

"So... he's very dangerous then," Bilbo summarized, recalling what the 'Ri brothers had shared with him.

"In a manner of speaking, yes," admitted Óin, sighing. "Look, Dáin is brilliant and noble and I love him like my own brother, but that doesn't mean I'm blind to his strengths. He's cunning and charming and knows how make people do what he wants without them ever realizing it. He's one of those rare types who could take over the world if he really set his mind to it, and no one could complain because they would think it was the best idea they ever had."

"Wow. Would he really do that? Conquer the world, I mean."

"No. I asked him once when we were tots and he laughed at me. Said it would take too much paperwork."

Bilbo snickered before a stray thought caught up to him. "Wait, those people here who fear Lord Dáin's power... there's more to it isn't there?" he said slowly, watching Óin as the healer flinched and carefully looked away. "I mean, they're worried about _Erebor_ in particular, so that means the kingdom has something that he wants, doesn't it? What is it?"

Óin said nothing as he very pointedly stood up and returned to his seat behind his desk. "I think it's time for you to get to work now," he said as he sat down and began to flip through his paperwork.

Bilbo opened his mouth to complain but then he caught sight of how tense Óin's shoulders had grown, and quickly shut his mouth and left. Sometimes tact really was the better road to take.

* * *

Halfway through his adventure in counting how many bottles of ground salt the clinic had—sixty-three—Bilbo received an unexpected visit.

"So this is where he's been hiding you. Smart of him."

"I would say wasteful. His talents could be better used outside seeing to his patients."

Bilbo turned around on the ladder he was sitting on and looked down at the couple below him. One was a female Dwarf wearing a light pink dress that hugged her like a glove and showed off every curve and dip to her body. Her light blond hair was braided around her head in chunky locks while smaller, delicate braids framed her face in loops and connected to her beard. Her companion was a male Dwarf wearing a dark purple set of robes and so much gold that he jingled when he walked. His bright red hair was tied up like ropes on the back of his head while his beard hung loose with small braids crisscrossed over each other.

"Hello, Master Baggins," greeted the female, her sultry voice sending off bells in his head. "Do you remember me?"

Bilbo narrowed his eyes as he took in the lovely face and large brown eyes before it finally clicked. "Lady Súna and Lord... Glóin?" he said slowly, struggling to recall their names. "Did I get them right? I'm no good with Dwarf names, I'm afraid."

"So we heard from my brother," commented Glóin, grinning up at him with a twinkle in his bright blue eyes. "_Corin_ mentioned it too."

Bilbo immediately made a face at the mention of the prickly guard. "He really needs to get over that. I already apologized!"

"Thorin never forgets and never forgives," Glóin intoned in a mockingly deeper voice. "Trust me on that. I once stole a cupcake from him and to this day he _still_ won't eat cake around me."

Somehow, he wasn't surprised to hear that. "Is there a reason for this unexpected visit?" he wondered, closing his book and stuffing his ink into his pocket and the quill behind his ear. "Is it to see Óin? Because he's obviously not here."

"Actually, we're here to see _you_, Master Baggins," corrected Súna, sashaying closer to him with her dress trailing behind her like a veil of flowers.

"_Me_? What for?"

"To thank you for your aid in identifying Lord Eikar's killer," Glóin replied, crossing his arms over his chest as he studied the Hobbit. "Lord Eikar was my cousin and friend, you see, and losing him in such a dishonorable way has left us all a bit... disoriented."

"Óin seems to be handling it fine," Bilbo mused as he began to climb down the ladder.

Glóin scoffed. "That's because _Óin_ is a rat-faced bastard with no heart. Wouldn't cry even if our dear mother died before him."

"Glóin," his wife chided, turning her liquid brown eyes on him.

The Dwarf wilted slightly. "Well, maybe he's not _that _bad," he backtracked grudgingly. "He just always hides his feelings so it's hard to tell when he's upset."

"That's because you show enough emotions for the both of you," Súna reminded him patiently, "and don't forget that he cried at Gimli's birth. Remember? He wept as he held him for the first time and thanked us both for blessing him with a nephew."

"Gimli?" he repeated, completely lost.

Glóin's face brightened until it hurt to look at him. "Our son," he said, and the clear adoration in his tone would have been obvious to a deaf fool. "He's my dear gem! Would you like to see a picture—"

"No, dear, he would not," interrupted his wife, reaching out to pull his hand out of his pockets without looking. "Save it for when we have time. Now, Master Baggins, I have something for you..."

Bilbo cocked his brows as the Dwarf reached into her sleeve and withdrew a finely made envelope. She held it out to him and he took after a moment of hesitation. "What's this?" he asked, turning the letter over to examine the wax seal of two axes making an interlocking X.

"It's a letter of thanks from Eikar's brother's wife," explained Súna, tapping one polished nail on the red wax. "His sons are still too distraught to think so she wrote it. They appreciate your efforts to bring Eikar's killer to justice."

"But I didn't do anything," he protested, looking up to meet the Dwarf's brown eyes. "All I did was prove my friend innocent of his murder."

"Actually you proved that my cousin's death was an inside job, which helped narrow down the suspects, and has made tracking down the killer easier," corrected Glóin, smirking. "Plus, Eikar would have been offended if we allowed your friend to take the blame of his death. He never could stand for such injustice."

Bilbo sighed and tucked the letter away in his coat pocket. "I understand. Thank you for taking the time to deliver it to me personally. I'm sure you both have better things to do than track me down."

"Yes, we do," admitted Súna, bluntly, as she settled her hands on her wide hips. "However, it can all wait in the face of family."

He nodded in understanding. Then, before his courage could desert him, he said, "Can I ask you a question, my lady?"

One of Lady Súna's carefully groomed brows arched a fraction. "If you must. What is it?"

"Why did you give me a pass that day?" the Hobbit asked before rushing on to explain, "At your office, I mean, when I came to get permission to work in Erebor. I always wanted to know. It couldn't have been out of pity or duty."

"Correct. I gave you the pass for one simple reason: I wanted your skills."

"My skills?" Bilbo repeated, casting a mystifying look to Glóin only to receive an equally unhelpful wink.

"Yes, your skills," Súna repeated patiently. "Your experience with different healers makes you a valuable asset. I want our healers to learn from you and gain that experience for our kingdom."

"Oh." It had not occurred to Bilbo that his skills would be seen as something worth investing in. Most of the time people just spurned his 'foreign ways' and made him learn their own customs. This was one of the rare times someone had found value in his unique experiences.

"You look surprised. Is it really such a shock?" questioned Súna, the corner of her lips softening into something almost like a smile. "Silly boy. You underestimate your worth."

He snorted, and awkwardly scratched at the back of his shin with the heel of his foot. "Hardly. I'm well aware that I'm a nobody with a big mouth. You don't have to remind me," he said, glancing around the room in order to avoid looking into the Dwarrowdam's large doe eyes. "Well, I have to get back to work now. If there's nothing else...?"

"No. That is all for now," said Lady Súna, giving a graceful bow before standing up straight. "Thank you for your time, Master Baggins."

"Bilbo. My name is Bilbo," he corrected, eyes flickering back to meet hers for a second before he looked away again.

Súna blinked once and shared a look with her husband that he didn't bother trying to read. Then, with one more silent bow, the couple glided off together and left him behind with his book and bottles of salt.

_What a weird couple_, he mused before shaking his head and getting back to work.

* * *

Later that day, after finishing recording all of the items in stock, Bilbo turned the ledger into Óin and headed out to meet Bifur. To his surprise, when the Dwarf showed up, he brought along his cousin and husband.

"I didn't know you two would be joining us," he said in greeting as Bifur, Bofur, and Bjarte met him halfway down the stairs of the clinic.

"Well I can't leave this old fool alone for too long. Might do something stupid," explained Bjarte, his face and clothes smeared with coal. He had a pickaxe strapped to his back and his hair and beard were braided back into a single, tight braid.

"The only stupid thing I ever did was marry ya," growled Bifur, reaching over to pinch Bjarte on the arm. Like his husband, he too carried a pickaxe on his back and had his hair and beard braided back where it couldn't get in the way.

"How are ya today, Bilbo? Help anyone interesting?" asked Bofur, obviously ignoring the growling couple next to him. He worse his usual mining leathers and hat but carried a mattock on his back instead of a pickaxe.

"No. I got stuck counting supplies today," he replied before nodding to the mattock on the Dwarf's back. "I didn't realize you were all hewers. That's impressive."

Bofur blinked a few times before a smile broke out across his face. "Thanks! It's nice to be appreciated for all my hard work. But I didn't think ya knew what a hewer was. Most folk don't."

"Ehh, I worked in the mines back in the Blue Mountains," Bilbo explained, wrinkling his nose as the memories. "I was a hurrier or loader depending on what was needed. I learned about mining roles there so I know how much time it must've taken for you to become a hewer."

"Ya were a hurrier?" Bjarte commented, looking Bilbo up and down with a frown on his full lips. "That's impressive. That ain't an easy job."

"More like foolish. Don't ya realize how little ya are?" questioned Bifur as something flickered in his dark eyes. "How could they let ya pull such weight?"

Bilbo scowled and raised his chin stubbornly. "It's wasn't _that_ hard! And I only did it for a season before I had to leave. Besides, they needed someone small and I needed the money so it all worked out."

"Well, ya won't be doing that here, yes?" Bofur said, swinging an arm around Bilbo's shoulders and situating himself between his cousin and the Hobbit. "Ya just stick to workin' in your shiny clinic taking care of sick folks, and leave the mining to us Dwarrows. Deal?"

Bilbo thought of the torn plants from Orocarni and the supplies he had just seen to, and wondered how long that would last. "Sure," he said, allowing the Dwarf to lead him off. "Now let's go get this over with. Dori is expecting me for dinner."

* * *

Before anyone gets angry, I feel the need to say that this story will not feature any Dáin bashing of any sort. I love Dáin, he's one of my favorites, and he plays an important role later by providing half his army to Bilbo's cause. But he's also badass and dangerous and related to people like _Kíli_ so please don't expect him to be perfect. Also, no, it's not the Arkenstone he wants. That's Thorin's vice.

**Silver pup**


	19. Act II: The Rogue - Chapter Five

Disclaimer: I do not own any familiar characters/settings/plot featured in this story. They all belong to (most likely rolling in his grave) **J.R.R. Tolkien**.

* * *

**A**ct **II**: **T**he **R**ogue

**C**hapter **F**ive

* * *

Despite what the name implied, the Lead District was not, in fact, composed of lead. Instead it was built out of simple stone and steel that was worn down and rusting into disrepair. The buildings lacked color or coordination and the obvious absence of guards was startling to see at first glance. It was a plain district that lacked the brilliance of the Amber District or the unique charm of the Brass District, and Bilbo found it altogether very sad looking.

"Why is this called the Lead District when I don't see any lead?" he asked his companions as they led him through the winding and broken cobbled streets. The streets were smaller and closer together than the roads in the other districts, and he found himself bumping into Bofur and Bjarte from it.

"It used to be made of lead until they realized that shit is poisonous, and was killing people or makin' 'um crazy," explained Bjarte, rolling his green eyes. "They got rid of it all but kept the name. Guess they liked the way it sounds."

"How could they not know that lead is poisonous? I thought that was common knowledge amongst Dwarves," Bilbo protested as he pulled his coat closer around him to fight off the chill of the night.

Bifur shook his head. "Not with the upper classes it's not. They never use lead so they don't know the danger behind it. All they cared 'bout was that it was cheap to mine and cheaper to build with. Took a whole district of folks going mad and dyin' before they finally thought to ask someone why."

Bilbo tried to imagine the disaster of a whole district of Dwarves losing their minds and dying painfully in the streets, and flinched at what his mind conjured up. "That's horrible. Those poor people must have been miserable."

"It was a long time ago so don't worry about it," comforted Bofur, ruffling Bilbo's curls. "Now the district is nice and safe with good, solid stone."

"Not that safe," murmured Bjarte, giving a nod to the numerous Dwarves lurking about. Some were harmless beggars or ladies of the night and while Bilbo didn't doubt for a moment they were each dangerous in their own way, he dismissed them in favor of the real threats. _Those_ were the Dwarves who walked about with a weapon of some sort on them and a hard gleam to their eyes that he knew all too well.

"Some of them have the same tattoos on their face," he commented in a low voice to Bofur. "Does that mean they are part of the same syndicate?"

"Mmm. This part of the district belongs to the One Order," replied the miner, giving a subtle nod to one of the members walking past them with blocky red patterns inked on his cheeks. "They control most of the west. The other three are run by different groups that all hate each other. They always fightin' for control."

Bilbo couldn't help but roll his eyes at the cliché answer. Eru forbid people would just get along. "Will it be a problem moving through the district with them about?"

Bofur shook his head and rubbed his thumb and forefinger together. "Nah. We're paid up for the season," he said, winking before pointing forward. "Plus we're going to the center of the district—that's a neutral place. No one will bother us there."

"Paid up...?" he repeated slowly.

"Protection fee," explained Bifur, and then shrugged when Bilbo gave him a dry look. "Hey, I said I left my _group_; didn't say anything about going straight."

"What he means is that he comes down here to gamble at the dens, and whine to the _amlâkul_ about how hard his life is," translated Bjarte, rolling his eyes at his husband and earning himself a stink eye from said Dwarf. "Really, stop trying to come off as scary and shit. Ya too old for it and it ain't impressin' anyone."

"It impressed _ya_," Bifur grouched, giving the Dwarf at his side a shove with his elbow.

Bjarte just shrugged it off. "I was young and stupid. Didn't know what the fuck I was doin' there," he countered, giving Bilbo a subtle wink. "If I had than I would've married Orda."

Bifur narrowed his eyes and stopped walking abruptly. Then, before Bjarte could open his mouth again, he grabbed the shorter Dwarf around the waist and pulled him flush against his own body. "Like she could've ever kept you satisfied," he growled before kissing him while his hand moved suspiciously lower.

Bofur instantly wrapped a hand around Bilbo's eyes and began to lead the Hobbit away. "Right, we're leavin' ya old fools here now," he yelled without turning back around. "C'mon, Bilbo, before they shove their tongues downs each other's throats. Ya _don't _wanna see that. Could scar ya for life."

"My eyes are shut," he promised, reaching up to push Bofur's hand harder against his eyes.

"We'll catch up with ya at the tavern," promised Bifur before there was a gasp followed by a low moan.

Bofur gagged and began to walk even faster. "Pick it up, Bilbo! I suddenly got the urge to get _reaally_ drunk!"

* * *

"How do you know this is the right place?" Bilbo asked Bofur later as the Dwarf led him up the cracked stairs of a tavern. It was an old thing made out of stone like the rest of the district, and noticeably lacked doors and windows. Bilbo could hear low voices inside and smell the strong scent of spirits, vomit, and urine.

"Because Bifur said it's at the Red Moon and the sign for it is right there," replied Bofur, dryly.

"Oh." He nodded in acceptance before a sudden realization made him freeze. "Wait, Bofur, you can read?"

Bofur nodded as he paused at the top of the stairs and tugged his mattock off his back. "A little bit," he explained, taking a seat on the top step with his mattock in his lap. "Bombur is better at it than me."

"How?" Bilbo asked, hopping up the last few steps to take a seat next to the miner. "I mean, you're not exactly..."

Bofur laughed easily and gave the Hobbit a wink. "Yeah, I know. But Bjarte has always been around so he taught me when I was young. He taught Bifur too, but Bifur doesn't care for it."

"Oh, that's right. Bjarte is from a higher class than the rest of you," he said, recalling their conversation from earlier in the week.

"Mmm. Not that ya can tell with the way he acts."

"He's around you and Bifur all day. What'd you expect?"

"Yeah, guess that's—hey!" Bofur gave a mock scowl and shoved the Hobbit with his elbow. "Rat."

Bilbo laughed and caught himself on one hand. "So what's the deal with the Lead District?" he asked, straightening up.

"Deal?" repeated the miner, blinking.

"Yeah, like why is it so dangerous? Who exactly lives here? What's the history of this place?" he asked, gesturing to the decrepit buildings around them. "A place doesn't just become dangerous over night. There must be a reason for it."

"Well, I don't know much 'bout the history of this place so you'll have to ask Ori 'bout that," Bofur said apologetically, scratching at his nose. "But I do know that this is where all former prisoners are sent to live if they ever get out of the Deep Mines."

"Deep Mines?" he repeated, rolling his eyes at the cliché name.

"Yeah, it's the main prison beneath the mountain," clarified the Dwarf, smirking slightly at his reaction. "They send the worse criminals down there to do the dangerous mining. I've never seen it personally, but I heard it's pretty fucked up. Most of them die in the tunnels or end up killing each other."

Bilbo shuddered. "Lovely. And when these dangerous prisoners get out, they have to live here," he summarized, wrapping his arms around his legs and resting his chin on his knee. "Why did the King ever think that was a good idea?"

His friend shrugged as he rolled his head back in a lazy stretch. "Got me. Guess he thought they would be easier to control if they were all in one area."

"But this area isn't controlled," he pointed out. "Bifur said not even the guards dare come down here."

"Ehh, maybe it worked better when it first started all those centuries ago," offered Bofur, giving another lazy shrug. "Good thing is most of them can't leave this level so I guess it kinda works?"

Bilbo wasn't too sure about that but kept his thought to himself. "Is every resident here a former criminal?" he asked instead.

"Nah. Some are just born here and stay 'cuz they ain't got nowhere else to go." The miner sighed and rested his cheek on one closed fist. "It was like that for us back in Ered Luin. Stuck in a hole with no way out. It's why Bifur joined those snakes in the first place. 'Cuz he thought he had nuthin' else to choose."

Bilbo bit his lip and studied the dejected looking Dwarf. "Did you... Did you ever join the Shadow Blades?" he asked carefully.

Bofur blinked a few times before scoffing softly and shaking his head. "Nah. Bifur would've knocked my teeth out if I tried. He said I could do better than runnin' with him. Not sure why he thought _he_ couldn't do the same."

Bilbo didn't know why either, but he also never knew the Bifur from the past so he couldn't comment. "Did Bjarte ever join it? Not because he needed to but for Bifur?"

"Hell no. Bifur wouldn't even let him meet the others," cackled Bofur, adjusting his hat as it began to slide down his face. "Think he was afraid Bifur would clock them if he did. He never liked that Bifur joined a group. Right, Bjarte?"

Bilbo blinked a few times at the sudden change in topic, and then looked up and spotted Bifur and Bjarte making their way up the stairs to them. They were both disheveled and Bjarte was boasting a remarkable blush but were otherwise decent. At Bofur's question, both looked up at the duo, and Bjarte automatically nodded to Bofur's question.

"Right," he said before casting an eyebrow up. "Wait, what am I agreeing to?"

"Bifur's habit of making horrible life decisions," filled in the healer, giving a cheeky grin when Bifur scowled at him.

"Yeah, and I'm looking at the worst one now," he growled, nudging Bilbo in the thigh as he stomped past. "Get up. The guy's waitin' for us."

Bilbo laughed as he and Bofur rose and followed the couple into the tavern. Inside was smoky and dark, and Bilbo counted eight Dwarves scattered around before he ran into Bofur's back. He squeaked and took a step back; ready to berate the Dwarf when he realized that Bifur and Bjarte had also abruptly stopped. Peeking around the miner, he found the reason for the sudden halt to be a Dwarf around Bifur's age dressed in plain gray and brown leather armor.

"What's wrong?" he asked Bofur, glancing up at the tense Dwarf. "Who is that? Is he the informant?"

"No, he's trouble," hissed Bofur, pushing Bilbo behind him without taking his dark eyes off the stranger. "Stay close to me. This ain't gonna end well."

Bilbo raised his eyebrows but did as told. In front of them, the stranger took a step forward, and held out his arms as if to embrace Bifur while wearing the slimiest smile he had ever seen on a person.

"Bifur," the Dwarf greeted before launching into Khuzdûl. Bilbo, naturally, couldn't understand a word of it, but he recognized the accent of the strange Dwarf easily.

_He's from the Blue Mountains_, he realized, and then his stomach dropped as he finally made the connection. _Uh-oh. That can't be good._

"Should I get ready to run?" he whispered to Bofur, eyeing up the eight other Dwarves scattered around the tavern. Each of them had risen from his seat and pulled out a weapon of some sort and were forming a circle around the four of them. For the first time since he entered, he realized there were no other residents or even a host. They were completely trapped and alone.

Bofur nodded slowly. "Yeah. Head for the door if ya can."

"It's gonna need to be cleared first," he noted, counting the three Dwarves blocking their way. "Should I—"

He never got the chance to finish his question. Bifur, with a roar in Khuzdûl, threw himself at the stranger; his pickaxe free and moving to cleave the other Dwarf in two. The stranger blocked it with an axe while around them the rest of the tavern sprung to life. He caught sight of Bjarte throwing himself into the fray and Bofur tackling another before he was forced into the fight himself.

The first Dwarf who faced him was thin and shorter than his counterparts, and wielded a long mace that he swung at Bilbo's head. Bilbo avoided it easily by dropping down into a crouch; catching himself with his hands and swinging one of his legs out to kick the Dwarf in the shin with the wide part of his foot. The Dwarf went down to one knee from the sudden pain, and the healer took the chance to bring his foot back around in a kick to the face. He felt something crack and knew he had most likely broken the Dwarf's nose. The stranger shrieked in surprise at the pain and curled over into a ball; holding his face as blood dripped out between his fingers.

Bilbo ignored him and got to his feet to face the next Dwarf waiting for him. This one was only slightly taller than his partner but boasted more muscles and a war hammer. Bilbo had no interest in seeing how skilled he was in wielding the large weapon, and quickly grabbed the nearest thing—a cheap stool made of rusted iron—and threw it at the Dwarf's face.

As he predicted, the Dwarf swung the hammer at the stool and knocked it away. Focused on the stool, he failed to notice Bilbo following it until he was next to him; throwing a one-knuckled punch at the soft section of the Dwarf's head. The Dwarf staggered from the blow and dropped his hammer before falling to the ground in an unmoving slump.

Bilbo had only the briefest moment to worry that he had caused serious damage to the Dwarf or not before he was forced to confront yet another stranger. This one was built the same as the previous Dwarf but held two long swords in both hands. Before Bilbo could blink, the stranger lunged forward and jabbed one of the blades at him. He tried to avoid it and failed as it sliced through his clothes and into the flesh of his bicep.

He hissed as pain flared through his arm, and quickly covered it with his free hand in an attempt to stop the bleeding. Unfortunately his assailant used this brief pause to lash out at him again; this time landing a blow that sliced open his upper thigh deep enough that, when he felt the hot gush of blood slide down his leg, his heart stopped in horrified fear.

_Stop the bleeding first_, he thought, recalling his mother's lessons as he stumbled back from the Dwarf with the bloody blades. _I need to stop the bleeding. Stop the bleeding, stop the bleeding, stop the bleeding—_

"Bilbo!"

He felt a hand wrap around the elbow of his injured arm, and when he looked up, he found that it was Bifur holding onto him. The Dwarf was splattered in blood and was wild-eyed as he looked over the Hobbit in one quick sweep. When his dark eyes landed on Bilbo's bloody leg, they went wide and drew back up to Bilbo's face in obvious alarm.

"I have to stop the bleeding or I'm going to die," he informed the miner in a calm voice that went against the pounding of his heart. "Help me stop the bleeding?"

Bifur blanched but quickly jumped into action. He ripped off the entire sleeve of his left arm and kneeled down to wrap it around Bilbo's wounded thigh. He flinched at the pain but steeled himself as Bifur tied it so tight that he doubted he would be able to get it off without a pair of scissors. As the Dwarf worked, he looked over Bifur's head at the tavern, and found that his assailant had been taken down by Bofur. The others were also all slumped across the tavern with only Bjarte and Bofur still standing.

"We need to get out of here," said Bjarte, stalking over to the pair with his pickaxe in one hand and handle axe in the other. Bilbo noted he was sporting a split lip but could see nothing else as serious. "There are gonna be more coming."

Bofur followed and leaned over to examine Bilbo's thigh with a wince. "Shit, that doesn't look good," he said, sharing an alarmed look with Bjarte.

Bifur grunted as he finished tying the last knot. "Ya don't say?" he drawled, getting his feet and casting a dry look at his cousin. "Thank Mahâl ya here, Bofur. Don't know what I'd do without ya stating the obvious."

"Bifur, knock it off. Now is not the time," scolded Bjarte, giving his husband a warning look. "We need to leave. What's the fastest way out?"

Bifur scowled, and glanced down at Bilbo before looking around the tavern at the unconscious or dead residents. "We need to split up," he finally declared, looking to the blond. "Bjarte, get Bofur out of here through the north roads. I'll take Bilbo to the east."

"Bifur, he needs help," Bjarte said quietly, nodding to the Hobbit leaning against a table.

"I know. Why do ya think I'm going east?" retorted Bifur before reaching over to wrap an arm around Bilbo's waist. "C'mon now; lean on me, boyo. That's a lad."

Bilbo wrapped an arm around Bifur's shoulder, and allowed the Dwarf to take most of his weight. His arm and leg continued to throb but he could feel that the blood from his leg had at least stopped. He couldn't say the same about his arm, but that wound was not as deep or alarming as the other, so he ignored it for the moment.

"Is everyone else okay?" he asked Bifur as the Dwarf helped him walk through the mess of bodies and overturned furniture.

He felt the Dwarf snort. "We're fine. Just worry 'bout yourself. Ya got the worse of it."

"I did," he acknowledged, feeling shame and anger curl up in his chest at the thought. "Should've brought a weapon. Would've been easier to fight them then."

Bifur hummed but said nothing more as they walked out of the tavern. When they got to the bottom of the stairs, they saw—to their mutual alarm—a group of Dwarves rushing towards them from the west. Bjarte and Bofur quickly pulled out their weapons and made a wall in front of Bifur and Bilbo.

"Bifur, get out of here. We'll distract them for ya," ordered Bjarte without looking away from the group of Dwarves.

"Don't die," ordered Bifur before dragging Bilbo off in the opposite direction.

"Please be careful," Bilbo threw back over his shoulder.

Bofur laughed heartily, and gave him a quick wink as he twirled his mattock in his hands. "Just focus on stayin' alive, Master Healer. We'll be fine here."

Bilbo could only pray that would be true.

* * *

Bilbo lost count of the twists and turns that Bifur took as he dragged him through the broken streets of the Lead District. The pain of his wounds made him nauseous and fatigued and as time went by, he became less and less aware of anything but the rolling of his stomach and the ache in his arm and leg. When they finally stopped before a stooped cottage made of stone, he nearly fell to the ground from relief.

"Steady now, lad," soothed Bifur, reaching out to bang his fist against the door. "Almost there. Ya can rest in a moment."

The healer grunted, and leaned his head against Bifur's as the door was opened a crack to reveal a pair of brown eyes highlighted by kohl. There was a soft question in Khuzdûl that Bifur replied to in the same language before the door was opened fully, and they were ushered inside by the stranger. Bifur quickly dragged Bilbo into the building where he was immediately assaulted by the strong scent of flowers and smoke. He blinked a few times as his eyes adjusted to the dim lighting, and found himself surprised by what he saw.

The Dwarf who had admitted them entrance was different from any Dwarf he had seen before. Standing as tall as Bifur, they had long black hair tied into a million tiny braids that fell to their wide hips and an equally long beard that was braided in the same fashion. They wore a long red skirt with slits on both sides and a loose, billowy red top that hung down one pale shoulder. But what really threw Bilbo off was that he could not for the life of him tell exactly what gender the stranger was.

Bifur didn't give him the chance to ask. Once inside, he began to speak rapidly in Khuzdûl to the stranger; gesturing with his free hand to Bilbo's wounds before pointing behind him with his thumb. The stranger listened attentively before giving a firm nod and a response in Khuzdûl. They then turned and gestured for Bifur to follow them down a short corridor to a set of steep stone steps.

The miner quickly followed while gently dragging Bilbo along. After helping him down the curving stairs, they came to a long corridor lined with doorways that held only rags for doors. Some of them were open; revealing Dwarves who looked just as different as the first. Bilbo caught only glimpses of them in passing as Bifur dragged him down the hall to the only doorway with an actual door. There the stranger ushered them inside, and spoke once more in Khuzdûl to Bifur before softly closing the door and leaving them alone.

Inside the room, Bilbo found it to be small and simple with only two pieces of furniture. The first was a bed set in the center of the room on the ground that was covered in multi-colored quilts, blankets, and pillows. The second was a single table made of chipped stone.

Bifur helped him over to the bed where he slowly sat down in relief. He stretched his injured leg out before him, and carefully examined the bloody makeshift bandage. It had done its job and stopped the bleeding, but he knew that wouldn't last. He would need to eventually stitch up the wound or risk bleeding to death again.

"Well, this has been a fun night," he commented idly, glancing up at Bifur as the Dwarf unhooked his pickaxe and leaned it against the wall.

"Is that what they're callin' it now?" snorted Bifur, sitting down in front of Bilbo with his legs crossed beneath him. "Good to know."

Bilbo grinned as he looked over his injured arm. It had completely drenched his sleeve in blood and made it stick to his skin in a tacky mess. On the bright side though the wound had stopped bleeding so furiously, and was now only sluggishly oozing blood. He sighed at the sight of his ruined shirt, and began the sad job of ripping the ruined sleeve off his arm.

"Oye, let me do that," protested Bifur, leaning forward and batting his hands away. "Stupid boy. Can't ya see your hands are shakin' like an old cripple?"

He shrugged his good shoulder but didn't fight the miner as he easily ripped the sleeve off from above his wound down. "I need to clean it out and wrap it in a clean bandage. Will you help me?"

"Obviously. Ya hardly able to do it with one hand," the miner muttered. "I take it ya have stuff in your pack?"

Bilbo nodded, and carefully pulled off his faithful pack that had, for the most part, gotten away undamaged. "I have bandages but nothing else."

"That's fine. Arnina already went to get some water," Bifur reassured, tugging Bilbo's pack over to his lap where he began to dig through it.

"Arnina?" he repeated, watching the Dwarf in case he broke something in his search. "Then she's female?"

Bifur nodded absently. "Mmm. Most of the time, anyway."

Bilbo blinked a few times in surprise. "Excuse me? What does that mean? Actually, these Dwarves here... are they male or female? Because I can't tell."

Bifur chuckled, and glanced up at Bilbo from beneath his black lashes. "They're both, lad."

"Both?" he repeated, still completely lost.

"Aye. They're called _amlâkul_ which means 'half' in Khuzdûl. They are Dwarrows who identify as neither male nor female or see themselves as both or the opposite of what they were born as," explained the miner as he pulled out a roll of bandages.

Bilbo closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead as his nausea suddenly spiked up. "I've never heard of them before. Are they common?" he questioned.

The Dwarf nodded as he set the pack to the side. "Oh, there are plenty around, but ya just don't see them. They're a bit like the outcasts of our people. Never outright rejected but never really accepted, they live in the low parts of kingdoms where the common folk don't see 'um."

"That doesn't sound fair," he commented, frowning in disapproval.

"It's not. The halves are considered freaks by most Dwarrows and usually preyed upon and killed. Hiding down here where most folks won't go is their only means of protection."

Bilbo didn't even have the energy to be surprised. "Why? They haven't done anything wrong by having different parts. Why are they being killed for something like that?"

"Folk don't understand that, lad, and when folk don't understand something they get scared. And when people get scared, they get angry, and that anger can do a lot of damage," explained Bifur, giving him a helpless shrug.

He shook his head, and carefully leaned back against the mountain of pillows behind him. "That's horrible. How can you hate someone for something so irrelevant?" he asked softly. "I don't get it. What does your maker say about this all?"

"Nothing. Mahâl has remained silent on it all," Bifur sneered, his face twisting into an ugly mask that made him look nothing like himself. "This makes some Dwarrows say that He disapproves but that's bullshit. He remains quiet for the same reason He remains silent about the treatment of our Dwarrowdams—because He's an asshole."

Bilbo burst into laughter that made his achy body feel worse. "Bifur!" he scolded between his laughter. "How can you speak that way about your maker? Isn't that blasphemy?"

The miner sniffed and raised his chin without shame. "Probably. Doesn't make it less true. I love my creator just as much as any other Dwarrow could, but doesn't mean I'm blind to His faults. Mahâl is an imperfect being just like the rest of the Valar; the only one who is _truly_ perfect is Eru. But since Mahâl's flawed, His children are flawed too. That's why we hurt each other and make mistakes and generally fuck up. Because we mirror our screwed up Creator."

Bilbo rolled his eyes, and reached out to take some of the bandages from Bifur. "You Dwarves are a lot more complicated than I realized," he commented, beginning to wrap the bandages over Bifur's makeshift attempt on his thigh. The wound would need to be stitched if he wanted it to heal but he knew he was in no state to perform such an operation. For now all he could do was staunch the bleeding until he was stable enough to sew up the wound.

Bifur clucked his tongue, and reached over to take the bandages back from him. "What did I just say? Let me help ya. Stubborn brat," he muttered, beginning to gently wrap up his thigh.

The Hobbit gave a sheepish grin. "Sorry. I guess I'm just too used to taking care of others."

Bifur didn't look impressed. "Stupid of ya. Ya should let me help since it's my fault ya got hurt," he said in a low voice.

Bilbo raised his brows in surprise. "Excuse me? Did I hit my head in that fight? Because I could have sworn it was another Dwarf that cut me up."

"Yeah, but it was me who led them to ya." Bifur hunched his shoulders up defensively as he leaned over the Hobbit, and avoided meeting Bilbo's eyes. "I should've double checked the informant before I brought ya down here. If I had, ya wouldn't have gotten hurt."

"Bifur, it's not your fault. It was my choice to come down here even after learning of the risks," he pointed out logically.

The miner clenched his jaw and stubbornly shook his head. "It was still _my_ job to watch over ya. Bombur and Nori are gonna kill me."

"I think it's Dori you need to fear. Have you ever seen his looks of disapproval?" he teased, nudging the miner in the shoulder with his hand.

The Dwarf scoffed loudly and leaned back as he finished tying the bandage. "Hmp. I'm more worried about his punches. Have ya seen the size of his hands?"

Bilbo laughed just as a soft knock came from the door. Bifur rose to his feet and moved to open the door to reveal Arnina standing there with a bowl in her hands. She handed it to Bifur with a quiet murmur in Khuzdûl that the miner replied to in the same tongue before quickly leaving once more. Bifur closed the door with his elbow, and returned to his previous seat in front of Bilbo.

"Alright, give me that arm now," he ordered, dumping some of the bandages into the bowl before wringing it out.

Bilbo did as ordered, and watched as the Dwarf began to lightly dab at his bloody and wounded bicep. "So," he said after a moment of silence, "want to tell me again why those Shadow bastards are after you?"

Bifur paused for a second before resuming his task. "How'd ya know they were from the Shadow Blades?"

"That Dwarf who spoke to you had a Blue Mountain accent," he said simply, flinching slightly at the press of cold cloth against his injury. "It wasn't that hard to make the connection."

His friend grunted in begrudging agreement. "True. That Dwarf was Herlígur—one of the sorry bastards I used to run with when I was still in the group. He said he was sent to take care of me. Fucker obviously ain't gonna be doin' that any time soon."

"Mmm. So why was he sent after you?"

"I told ya that. I wouldn't do the mission they asked of me."

Bilbo sighed, and gave the Dwarf a deadpan look. "Bifur, you don't chase someone across _kingdoms_ and lure them into a trap just because of an assignment refusal."

The miner snickered but nodded in agreement. "True. Alright, this is what happened. The mission they wanted me to do was to take out some blue blood who offended them or some shit like that. They told me to kill him, his husband, their sons, and then cut the heads off and bring 'um back. Obviously, I wasn't about to do that. Not only 'cuz it was fucking _crazy_ but also 'cuz the sons were just babes. They barely knew how to walk and talk and shit! I couldn't hurt them so I decided to run away instead."

It took the brunet a moment to absorb all the details through his fog of pain, but when he did he found himself still confused. "Wait, they're chasing you because you didn't kill someone? That's it?"

"Well, I might've also warned the noble about the hit on him," his friend admitted, giving a sheepish smile that brought out his resemblance to Bofur. "And maybe told the guards. And got some of them arrested. And thrown into prison. But, ya know, little stuff."

"Bifur!" he laughed, throwing his uninjured arm over his eyes. "No wonder they're trying to kill you! I can't believe you did all that! I'm proud of you."

"Well, it's not like I did it 'cuz it was the right thing to do or something," the Dwarf protested as he finished cleaning Bilbo's wound, and turned to wrapping it up in a clean bandage. "It's 'cuz the noble rewarded me for sellin' them out."

"He did?"

"Of course. How else do ya think I got the money to flee? It ain't cheap running for ya life ya know."

Bilbo snickered again and dropped his arm back to his side. He watched his friend finish tying up his injury, and then gave him a smile of gratitude when he looked up. "Thank you, Bifur. I appreciate your help."

Bifur shrugged as he picked up the bloody bowl and stood up to set it on the nearby table. "Kinda had to since it was my fault."

Bilbo rolled his eyes, picked up one of the smaller pillows with his uninjured arm, and flung it at Bifur's back. "Oh, do shut up about that. Your martyr act is getting annoying."

Bifur cast a glare at him, and picked up the pillow from the floor to toss it back at the healer. "Alright, get some sleep, boyo. I'll wake ya in a few hours and take ya home then."

Bilbo grunted in agreement and made himself as comfortable as he could without aggravating his injuries. Though he had been doing his best to ignore the pain, it was honestly wearing him down. Closing his eyes, he allowed himself to drift off to sleep with a silent vow to look over Bifur when he awoke.

* * *

I have always believed that a race with such a huge gap between the male and female populations must have some middle ground. So gender fluid and transgender dwarves are now a thing. Yeah.

And yes, Bilbo was totally a damsel in distress here but I couldn't do anything else. Out of the four of them, he was the one with the biggest disadvantages in battle since he was only wearing only thin clothes and had no weapons on him. Hence he was the one to take the most damage while the others only got minor injuries.

**Silver pup**


	20. Act II: The Rogue - Chapter Six

Disclaimer: I do not own any familiar characters/settings/plot featured in this story. They all belong to (most likely rolling in his grave) **J.R.R. Tolkien**.

* * *

**A**ct **II**: **T**he **R**ogue

**C**hapter **S**ix

* * *

Bilbo awoke to pain.

That was the first thing that he became aware of when he opened his eyes. It took him a moment to remember why he was in such pain, and when he finally did, it made him groan and close his eyes again. Without looking, he reached down to touch his thigh and felt blood seeping through the bandages again. It was time to wrap another layer to it.

Opening his eyes again, he found Bifur leaning against the wall by the door; arms crossed over his chest and one leg slightly raised and fast asleep. There were faint circles under his eyes and lines crinkling around his mouth and he twitched slightly every few seconds. It was clear that though Bifur had managed to fall asleep, it wasn't a very good rest.

Bilbo watched his friend for a moment before deciding to allow him to sleep. Slowly, he forced himself up, and ignored the flash of pain that went through his injured arm when he did. His pack was easily within reach and his stash of bandages sat on top where Bifur had left it. Patiently, he pulled them out and bandaged his thigh until he could no longer see any hint of red.

With his task finished, he turned his attention to the nearby table where the bloody bowl had disappeared but a clay pitcher and two cups had taken its place. He poured himself several cups of water that he downed until he was satisfied. Then he made his way over to Bifur where he examined him for any obvious injuries. Once satisfied that his friend wasn't wounded, he reached out and shook the Dwarf awake.

"Bifur. Bifur, wake up," he said, increasing his shaking when the gentle motion didn't work.

Bifur groaned and batted his hand away. "I'm up, I'm up," he grumbled, rubbing his face before with one hand before cracking open one dark eye. "Fuck, everything hurts. I must be gettin' old."

Bilbo grinned and carefully stood up straight. "Not gonna argue with that," he teased, laughing lightly at the glare he received for his comment. "I think it's safe to leave now. Those Shadow bastards are probably gone by now."

"Mmm. How's the leg?" Bifur asked, cracking his neck and rolling his shoulders back to loosen them up.

Bilbo looked down at his injured thigh and shrugged. "Same. It won't really stop bleeding until I sew up the wound. But for now the bandages will still work."

The miner nodded slowly as he studied the Hobbit closely. "Ya look paler than before. The blood loss gettin' to ya?"

"A little bit," he admitted, wincing slightly. "I feel dizzy and tired but I drank some water so that should help. I really can't do anything about it all until I get back to Dori's house. That's where I left most of my healing supplies."

Bifur frowned darkly. "Let's get ya home then before ya faint on me," he ordered, rising to his feet with a huff. "I don't wanna imagine how Dori will react if he sees me carrying ya home."

The long walk back to the Tin District was a slow affair. While he no longer needed Bifur to help him in walking, Bilbo found that he couldn't move very fast or stretch his legs very far without aggravating his injury. The handicap left them both moving at a sluggish pace through the dark and nearly empty kingdom.

When they finally did arrive at the 'Ri home, Bilbo was surprised to see that the lights were still on inside. Sharing a confused look with Bifur, he softly opened the door and peeked inside and found a bleary eyed Ori sitting at the table; his chin resting on one hand and his hair a mess of loose waves falling around him. He was staring intently at a spot on the table and didn't seem to notice the Hobbit hobbling into the house.

"Isn't it past ya bed time?" Bifur asked snidely as he gently closed the door behind him.

Ori's head snapped up at the sound of the Dwarf's voice. When his green eyes landed on Bilbo, they grew wider and his mouth fell open. "Bilbo!" he yelled, jumping to his feet and knocking his chair down behind him. "Bilbo! Dori, Bilbo's back!"

The healer winced at the loud tone and made a shushing noise. "Quiet down there, Ori. You're gonna wake the neighbors."

"Who cares?!" shrieked the Dwarf, rushing around the table to meet Bilbo. "What the hell happened to you?! Where did you go?! Why—is the _blood_?!"

Bilbo sighed as Dori came rushing into the room from the back; as wild-eyed as Ori but with neater hair and clothes. "Bilbo!" he cried when he saw the Hobbit, and quickly pushed his brother out of the way to fret over him. "What happened? Who did this to you? Bifur, did you know about this?!"

"It was an accident," Bilbo said before Bifur could speak. He flinched when Dori touched his wounded arm, and then immediately felt bad when Dori jerked his hand back as if he had touched fire. He reached out and caught the Dwarf's rough hand in his own, and gave it an apologetic squeeze.

"Sorry, I'm still pretty sore," he explained, gesturing to his arm and thigh with his free hand. "Actually, if I could sit down, that'd be great. I think my leg is gonna fall off."

Dori nodded and quickly led the healer to one of the chairs at the table. "Sit down here," he ordered, helping Bilbo stretch out his leg and looking over it critically. "You have so many bandages on. Should we change them?"

Bilbo grunted as he laid his head down on the cold table. "No. Leave them as they are. It's the only thing keeping me from bleeding out," he explained.

"What?!" Ori squawked while Dori went bone white.

"Relax," he ordered, rolling his eyes at their dramatics. "The cut isn't too deep but it did hit an important vein. It needs stitches to stop the bleeding, but I'm not exactly in the state to do that right now. So for now I need to keep it bandaged tightly."

Ori nodded shakily in understanding while Dori turned to face Bifur. "Explain. Now," he growled, moving to loom over the shorter Dwarf like a great storm cloud.

Bifur, though, held his ground and handed Bilbo's pack to Ori before breaking into an endless stream of Khuzdûl. Bilbo listened to the rumbling tone and watched Dori and Ori's expressions carefully as they both listened attentively to Bifur's tale. As the story went on, Ori's eyes went wider than he had ever seen them, and his shoulders grew tenser with each passing minute. In contrast, Dori went very still and stared at Bifur with nearly unblinking eyes. It was only at the end of it that he calmly walked over to the miner, rolled up one sleeve, and punched him in the face.

"Dori!" Bilbo yelped, nearly jumping to his feet only to gasp at the pain when he moved his leg. Ori was instantly by his side; wrapping an arm around his shoulders and gently pushing him back into his seat.

"Don't move, stupid," he scolded softly.

Bilbo pinched him on the elbow. "Don't call me stupid."

Bifur, who had stumbled from the blow but did not fall, groaned and rubbed his jaw. "I deserved that," he acknowledged, shifting his jaw back and forth.

"Yes, you did," agreed Dori, dusting his hands off before pointing to the door. "Now go home and let your family know you're safe. We'll see you later in the week for dinner. Tell Bombur I'll bring the bread."

Bifur gave a mocking salute. "Yes, sir."

"And, Bifur?"

"Mmm?"

Dori gave a small bow to the miner. "Thank you for bringing him home," he said, green eyes brighter than normal.

Bifur blinked a few times before giving a jerky nod. Then, bidding Bilbo and Ori goodbye, finally left for home. Bilbo watched him go and sent a quick prayer to anyone listening that he got home safe and sound. He didn't know what he would do if something were to happen to Bifur now.

"Where's Nori?" he asked Ori after the miner had left.

"Out looking for you," replied Dori, placing one hand on his hip while rubbing his forehead with the other. "Honestly, Bilbo, what were you _thinking_ going into the Lead District without telling anyone? Don't you know how dangerous it is?"

The Hobbit flinched, and looked down to stare at his bandaged thigh in shame and guilt. "I'm sorry," he said quietly, playing with the edges of the bandage sticking to his skin. "I thought I would be fine with the others. I didn't mean to make you worry."

Dori gave a deep sigh and shook his head. "Never do such a ridiculous thing ever again," he ordered, pointing at the healer. "Now get up and get out of those disgusting clothes. Ori, help him change please."

Ori nodded mutely and moved to obey his eldest brother. He helped Bilbo out of the chair and down the hall to their shared room where he carefully aided the Hobbit in changing out of his bloody and dirty clothes, and into a borrowed sleeping gown from Dori.

"You can sleep in my bed tonight," the young Dwarf said, helping him lay down in said bed. "I'll sleep in yours."

Bilbo nodded in acceptance; too tired and sore to put up a fight over the switch. "Thank you, Ori. I'll try not to get blood on your sheets," he joked, giving a weak smile.

Ori didn't look amused. "It's fine. Sheets can be cleaned," he said, unrolling Bilbo's bed on the floor and flopping down face first into the pillow. He took in a deep breath and turned his head to the side to peer up at Bilbo with one green eye.

"Is it very painful?" he asked, his voice muffled by the pillow.

"Not as bad as other injuries I've had," he said honestly, stretching his injured arm above him so Ori could see the bandage. "I can handle the pain easy enough. It's the inconvenience that I hate."

Ori rolled onto his side so that he lay facing Bilbo, and slid one arm under his pillow while resting the other by his face. "Everyone was really worried," the Dwarf commented, still staring up at him with his green eyes. "Please don't ever do that again. It's not good for Dori's health."

Bilbo flinched but nodded. "I won't disappear like that again," he promised, the guilt twisting around his heart like vines around a pillar. "Not if I can help it."

"Good," said the scholar as he closed his eyes. "Go to sleep now. You need it."

"Yes, Dori," he said, rolling his eyes even as he made himself comfortable in the bed. As he closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep, he heard Ori whisper one last thing but it was too soft to make out.

_I'll ask him in the morning_, he thought absently before finally succumbing to his fatigue.

* * *

The second time Bilbo awoke, Ori was gone and Óin was sitting at his bedside.

For a long moment he simply stared at the old Dwarf; torn between pinching himself to check if he was awake, or pinching Óin to prove that he wasn't a fever induced illusion caused by his wounds. Neither situation was desirable, and he found himself rather hoping that his injuries had become infected and he was now delusional and out of his mind. Being in such a state was surely better than waking up to find his boss looming over him.

"How much longer do you plan on staring at me like that?" the Dwarf finally asked, arching an imperious eyebrow.

"I'm trying to figure out if I'm awake or not," he admitted, still staring at the older healer.

Óin's eyebrow went up another fraction. "You're awake. Shall I pull your hair to prove it?"

"No, I believe you," he admitted grudgingly, finally sitting up and leaning back against the wall behind him. He laced his hands together and placed them in his lap and studied the Dwarf next to him. "So. What are you doing here?"

"Your friend brought me to sew up your thigh," explained Óin, nodding to his own case of supplies that he carried on him at all times. "I admit, I thought he was jesting when he said you had been injured while down in the Lead District. Because surely _my_ healer Hobbit would know better than to visit the most dangerous part of the kingdom with more than just _three miners_ to protect him."

"Obviously, you assumed wrong," he retorted, raising his chin in challenge.

Óin's eyes narrowed into twin slits of blue. "Damnit, lad, what were thinking going down there? Were you thinking at all? Don't you know people die down there? Not even the guards will venture past a certain point in that district!"

"I knew of the dangers," he admitted, nodding his head, "but I didn't care. I _needed_ to go there."

"For what? What could that cesspool hold that's so important?" sneered the Dwarf.

"The Blue Iron."

Óin jerked back in his seat. "What?"

"The Blue Iron. I went there because I thought I had found a way to make contact with the Blue Iron," Bilbo explained, squeezing the red wool blanket as he felt his emotions spike up dangerously. He was losing control of himself.

"What in Mahâl's name do you need the Blue Iron for? What could _possibly_ merit their attention?" the healer demanded, gesturing wildly with one hand.

"I need their help to get the Shire back, Óin!" he snapped, glaring at the healer as his eyes began to sting at the corners. "I need them to help me fight the dragon Smaug!"

Óin's eyes grew large and the crinkles around them deepened. "Bilbo..."

Bilbo looked down to stare at his hands where they were bunched up in Ori's worn but soft blanket. Everything from the night before—the ambush, getting injured, running for his life—and everything from the weeks following it—from trying to raise enough money to the accident at work—was finally hitting him at once, and the force of so many conflicting emotions was just too much. His teary eyes grew worse until all he could see were the blurry images of his hands against a red background.

"My clan has been saving money for decades so we could get someone to help us. My uncle sent me here with that money to hire soldiers to help our people in the fight against the dragon Smaug," he explained to Óin, and heard his voice crack much to his disgust. "_Everyone_ is depending on me to bring them an army. _Everyone_ is waiting for me to save us and I _can't_ fail them. _That's_ why I went to the Lead District and _that's_ why I need to find the Blue Iron. And that's why I got this stupid injury and I can't go to work today and I—"

"Enough," Óin ordered, interrupting him and gently reaching out to take one of Bilbo's hands into his own. "Hush, Rabbit, don't cry. You don't have to say anymore. I understand."

Bilbo gave a jerky nod as he reached up to scrub at his eyes with his free hand. "I didn't mean to make anyone worry," he whispered, squeezing his eyes shut in an attempt to stem the flow of tears.

Óin squeezed the hand in his grasp. "I know you didn't, lad, I know. Everything will be all right now. I promise."

Bilbo sniffed but nodded in acceptance as the door opened, and a familiar voice drawled out, "Hey, bastard, I didn't bring you here to make him cry you know."

Óin snorted, and Bilbo looked up to flash the new Dwarf a wobbly smile. "Hi, Nori."

Nori—carrying a tray of food—gave him a look that he couldn't read before giving a nod of acknowledgment. "Bilbo. Dori made you breakfast. I'm supposed to make sure you eat it all after your leg is stitched up," he said, holding up the tray as proof.

"I'm not really hungry," he admitted, wiping his eyes clear as more tears rose up.

"Don't care. You're eating it," Nori declared, setting the tray on a nearby table and giving Óin a glare. "Are you gonna sew up his leg or wait until he bleeds out?"

"Nori, be nice," he scolded the thief.

Nori pointed a metal spoon at him. "_You_ don't get to talk. _You_ lost all speaking privileges the moment you stepped into the _Lead District_."

Bilbo scowled and raised his chin up to counter his friend's words but never got that chance as Óin snapped something at him in Khuzdûl. Whatever he said made Nori sneer but set the spoon down, and turn to pick up Óin's case and hand it to him. The old Dwarf then began to pull out his supplies and Bilbo mentally braced himself for the pain that was to come.

"Drink this," ordered Óin, shoving a small bottle into his face without looking away from his case.

He took the bottle and sniffed it before making a face. "This smells like lobelia."

"Mmm. It has some of that and some other herbs. Drink it if you don't want to faint from the pain," ordered the older healer as he began to pull out a pile of white cloths.

Bilbo wrinkled his nose at the smell, but did as told. It tasted just as awful as it smelt. "That was disgusting," he informed Óin as the older healer stripped him of his blankets and then propped his injured leg on the sheets he had brought along.

"It's not meant to taste good, Rabbit," pointed out the older healer, giving him a dry look as he began to prep his needle and thread.

The Hobbit sniffed and rubbed at his still watery eyes. He _hated_ crying, and crying in front of people he knew and cared for was even worse. In an attempt to distract himself, he looked over to Nori, who had taken to silently looming over Óin and Bilbo at the end of the bed. "My cousin married a lass named Lobelia," he commented, catching the thief's attention and holding it. "She scares me almost more than my own mother did."

Nori arched a lazy brow as he crossed his arms over his chest. "Why?"

"Because she looks sweet and innocent until she opens her mouth. Then it's like sitting in the middle of a Man's drunk brothel," he explained, making a face at the memories. "I learned more curses and foul words from her than any lowlife could ever teach me."

"Stick around. I'm sure we can fix that here," muttered Óin.

"She also has this umbrella made of lace and flowers and a handle that is actually a sword in disguise," he added, stretching his arms out to show how long said sword was. "I once saw her slice a Man's stomach open with it and then flounce off without getting any blood on her yellow dress. I still don't know how she did it."

Óin actually paused and gave Bilbo a warning look. "She sounds terrifying. Keep her away from Erebor and Dís," he ordered, lifting a pair of scissors and pointing them at Bilbo in warning.

"I won't let her pass Mirkwood," he promised, placing a hand over his heart.

Óin grunted and looked up at Nori. "I'm going to cut the bandages off now. Don't be startled by the amount of blood that comes out. It's normal," the old Dwarf warned.

Nori scowled but nodded. "I won't."

"Good." Óin turned back to Bilbo and cocked a questioning brow. "Ready?"

Bilbo clenched his jaw together and nodded. "Yes. Let's just get this over with."

Óin grunted and began to cut away the layers of bandages holding his wound closed. As they expected, blood began to instantly leak out, but not as badly as it had the night before. The healer first cleaned it the best he could then, without any warning, began to sew up the gash.

Bilbo couldn't help but gasp and bury his hands into fists at his side. Though Óin's concoction worked somewhat, it was still not enough to take off all the pain, and getting stitches would always _hurt._ It didn't matter how many times he experienced it; nothing ever prepared him for the sick feeling of a needle piercing his skin and tugging it back together. The time seemed to pass in a slow crawl that he counted with each deep breath he took to keep himself calm. He kept his eyes shut and hands buried at his side for the whole surgery, and didn't relax until Óin neatly tied the knot at the end.

"There. Finished," he said, setting aside the needle in favor of a clean bandage that he wrapped around Bilbo's thigh. "Try not to move around too much for the rest of the day so the stitches can settle. Understand?"

Bilbo nodded as he opened his eyes again. "Thank you, Óin. I appreciate you coming down here for this."

The old healer hummed as he wiped his hands clean, and then began to pack up his supplies. "I could hardly refuse with your friend here whining my ear off," he said lightly, giving Nori a side-eye. "Besides, you're one of _my_ healers, lad, and I always look after my ducklings."

"I'm a duck now am I?" he commented casually even as his heart bloomed with pleasure at the remark.

"Rabbit, duck, stupid mouse taunting cats—any of those work," replied his boss, shrugging one shoulder. "Now I don't think I have to tell you that you'll be taking today and tomorrow off from work, yes?"

He gave a grudging nod. "I'll stay here. If I can't help my patients than I shouldn't be there anyway."

"Good boy." Óin reached out and mussed up Bilbo's thick curls until they became nothing more than a fuzzy mess. Bilbo squawked, and slapped the hand away while trying to smooth down the mess with his other hand.

"Óin! Stop it! My hair is fluffy enough!" he complained.

Óin smirked and glanced to Nori before speaking in Khuzdûl to him. The thief nodded to whatever was said; mumbling something back in the same language that had Óin relaxing a fraction. Then, with one final warning and a promise to visit the next day, the old healer left them.

Bilbo glanced over to the still silent thief and gave him an awkward smile. "Well, I think I'll go back to sleep now. I'll eat that breakfast when I don't feel so sick," he said, trying to sound nonchalant.

Nori did not look impressed. Silently, he stalked over to sit down on the bed at Bilbo's side; careful not to jostle his injured leg. "Do you have any idea how much anger I'm holding in right now?" he asked quietly, staring across the room at the wall.

Bilbo flinched. "Nori..."

"I ran everywhere looking for you last night," the Dwarf continued, ignoring him. "When I finally found Bofur and Bjarte, and they told me what happened, I wanted to kill them. That's how angry I was. That's how angry I _still_ am."

"I'm sorry," he said, feeling guilt wind its way around his heart yet again. "I didn't think things would go so bad. I thought I would just meet the contact, make a deal, and then come back to dinner. I never thought it would end... that way."

Nori turned to give him a glare that sharply brought out his resemblance to Dori. "I promised I would find the Blue Iron for you. Why didn't you just wait?" he snapped, green eyes flashing in the same way Ori's would when angered.

"Because you've done so much for me already," Bilbo replied, forcing himself to meet and hold his friend's angry stare. "I didn't want to trouble you with more."

"What are you talking about? I haven't done shit for you. I couldn't even protect you when you were nearly—" Nori abruptly broke off his sentence, and leaned forward to bury his face in his hands. He took in a few rib-shuddering breaths before slowly going limp.

"I've never cared about anyone but my brothers before," he whispered through his fingers, broad shoulders slumping. "You're the first friend I ever wanted to protect. So don't... don't do that again. Don't throw yourself into danger without me there. I can't..."

Bilbo felt his heart clench. Slowly, he reached out to grasp the bottom of Nori's coat, and wrapped his fingers around the rough material. "I won't, Nori," he promised quietly, wishing he could say or do more to comfort his friend. But what could he promise outside of being more diligent with his safety?

Nori said nothing for a long time. Eventually he took in a deep breath, and rose to his feet with his usual fluid grace. "Go back to sleep. I'll tell Dori you'll eat later," he ordered without looking at Bilbo before marching out of the room without another word.

* * *

The third time Bilbo awoke, it was due to yelling.

_That sounds like Dori_, he thought absently, rubbing his face with one hand and opening his eyes. It took him a few moments to fully awaken and another to force himself up and out of bed. Then, as quietly as possible, he crept out of the room and down the hall to where the yelling was coming from. Peeking out, he found Dori facing off against a much older Dwarf wearing a dark purple cloak. He had brown skin, dark eyes, and hair as white as snow. It took him longer than he cared for, but eventually Bilbo realized he was looking at the old Dwarf who had sentenced him and Nori in the prison all those weeks ago, but could not recall his name.

"Dori..." the old Dwarf said, reaching out a hand to the weaver.

Dori sneered and slapped it away, much to Bilbo's shock. "No. Stop it," he ordered, pointing at the old Dwarf. "I've told you before that I don't need your help. I am perfectly capable of taking care of my brothers and myself. It's bad enough that you went so far as to employ _Ori_ to your _son_—!"

"Balin made that choice himself," protested the stranger. "All I did was suggest he look for a secretary outside his department—"

"You still interfered," insisted Dori, interrupting him. "I told you before that I don't need your help. I can provide for my brothers on my own. Now please leave."

The Dwarf clenched his jaw and shook his head. "You need to do better. Nori was nearly arrested again. Even now I'm getting reports on him cheating Dwarrows out of coin."

"Nori's choices are his own as are any consequences he brings upon himself. I cannot control my brother; I can only try to steer him into the right direction," retorted Dori.

"How very sensible of you," the stranger sighed, broad shoulders slumping in defeat. "I suppose there is no point in asking you again?"

"Correct. I still have no interest in your offer," Dori replied, crossing his arms over his chest. "Now tell me: did you inform Balin about me? Is that why he chose Ori?"

The old Dwarf shook his head; disturbing the silver beads in his braids and making them click together like bells. "No. Balin and Dwalin know nothing," he stated firmly. "But your name has been added to the registry. Secretly, of course, but that will only last until my passing. Then anyone will be able to read it."

Dori's lips tightened into a thin line. "A foolish and selfish choice to make, milord. But I suppose that's not surprising; being foolish and self-centered is what got you into this mess to begin with."

"I see you are not in the mood to talk. I will visit you another time," decided the stranger, giving Dori a pained, half-smile that made Bilbo feel a twinge of sympathy for him.

Dori though did not look moved. "Please don't. I really have nothing left to say to you."

"Regardless, I will still come," the old Dwarf insisted, pulling his hood up over his head. "Until next time."

Bilbo waited until the stranger quietly left before slipping out to the open. Dori didn't seem to notice him at all; still staring at the door with a pinched look on his face. It wasn't until he was standing next to his friend and calling his name that he snapped out of his thoughts.

"Dori...?" he said softly, watching the Dwarf carefully.

Dori slowly turned to look at him, and blinked a few times as his green eyes refocused. "Bilbo. I thought you were still sleeping."

"I woke up when I heard you arguing," he admitted sheepishly before pointing to the door. "Dori, wasn't that—?"

"Lord Fundin, yes. He visits me from time to time," said the weaver, lightly.

"Um, should I ask why?"

Dori shrugged lazily. "I suppose there's no point in trying to hide it now. Lord Fundin is my father."

Bilbo blinked a few times as he tried to absorb the news that his friend was the son of a high ranking noble. "Whoa. That's... not what I was expecting at all," he admitted, shaking his head.

Dori gave him a thin smile. "Yes, it is quite a shock is it not? Nobles usually don't bother with us lower born folk. Even rarer for them to have bastard children left behind unacknowledged. But my mother was _very_ beautiful and _very_ charming and not even nobles could not say no to her."

"How did he know? I thought your mother didn't tell any of your fathers of your births?" he wondered, reaching out for a nearby chair and carefully lowering himself into it.

"She didn't. He found out by accident after they broke off their affair," Dori explained, carefully watching him settle into the chair and stretch his leg out. "Not that it mattered in the end. He was still married when I was born and his wife had already given birth to Lord Balin. Leaving them both was out of the question. He really didn't start bothering me until after his wife passed. Said he didn't want to tarnish her pride any more than he already did. But now that she's gone, he's determined to forge some sort of bond between us. Don't know why. It is already far too late."

Bilbo flinched slightly at the carelessness in Dori's tone. Though he knew it was well deserved, he couldn't help but feel pity for the old lord. It could not have been an easy choice to choose between his wife and son. "I didn't know nobles cared so much about their bastard children," he commented, tapping his fingernails against the table in a steady rhythm

The weaver jeered. "Of course they care. Children are our greatest treasure, remember?" he reminded, wagging a finger at him "It just complicates inheritance matters so that's why it's discouraged. Usually a noble will acknowledge their bastard child but rank them after their legitimate children. That way they're not a threat to the heir, but they still get what they deserve."

"Is that what Lord Fundin is trying to do now?"

"Somewhat. He knows I don't care about his fortune or blood, but he's determined to leave me something. He also seems to want some sort of relationship between us." Dori made a face. "Mahâl only knows why."

Bilbo bit his lower lip as he considered his words carefully. "I think you should do it," he said slowly, watching Dori's brows fly high. "Get to know him, I mean."

"I don't—"

"Do you know how lucky you are to still have your father alive?" he interrupted, staring into Dori's eyes. "I would do _anything_ to bring my father back."

"Bilbo, that's not fair. You can't compare your loving relationship with your father to my own. We both had two different experiences," Dori reasoned, frowning so deeply that the lines around his mouth looked like cracks in marble.

"I'm not trying to!" he countered quickly, shaking his head. "It's just... you have a chance that so many don't. A chance that _I_ wish I had. Don't waste it and dismiss him from your life without even giving him a chance. You'll regret it later."

Dori stared at him mutely for a long time; the cracks never easing and his green eyes dark and murky like Nori's when he was deep in thought. Bilbo could not read the Dwarf's thoughts or emotions, and could only sit there and wait for him to act. Finally, after more than a few minutes had passed, the old Dwarf let out a great sigh that made his whole body deflate.

"I will... think on your words, Bilbo," he said slowly, running his tongue over his top teeth in consideration. "That is all I can promise for now."

"That's all I ask for," he reassured, giving his friend the biggest smile he could. "Thank you, Dori, for doing so."

"Well, I could hardly say no when you look at me with those eyes," muttered the weaver, giving him a judging side-eye. He then faltered for a second before asking, "You... really loved your father then? When he was still alive?"

Bilbo thought of his father—a sturdy, stout Hobbit with the same brown curls as Bilbo and a shy smile that could make flowers bloom—and felt the grief grab hold of his heart again. Bungo Baggins had not been the boldest of Hobbits nor the smartest or most charismatic, but he had held a quiet dignity and an unwavering sense of responsibility and compassion for all of Eru's creations. His mother had been giving in her own way, but it was Bungo whom he had really inherited his compassion from. There had been no kinder soul to ever walk the land than his father.

Bilbo missed him every day. He missed him so much that it left him breathless sometimes.

He swallowed down the strange lump in his throat, and met Dori's eyes with a wobbly smile. "Yeah. Yeah, I really did."

* * *

So the first daddy of the 'Ri brothers has been revealed. I chose Fundin for Dori mostly for two reasons: one being that Dori shares a similar build to Dwalin and similar personality traits to Balin so I figured why not? Second is because movie cannon states that Thorin and the 'Ri brothers are distant kin but never states how so... here it is.

Now cannon wise both Balin and Dwalin are older than Dori with Balin being born in 2763, Dwalin in 2772, and Dori in 2827. But in this case I've switched Dwalin and Dori's birth years on account of needing Dori to be significantly older than Nori and Ori. So now Balin is 158, Dori is 149, and Dwalin is 94. Not that it matters much since Dwarves pretty much stop ageing after they hit 40 and only start again in the last decade of their life because that's TOTALLY FAIR.

And yes, Fundin is old here too being 259, but considering Dwalin lived to 340, I don't think it's out of the realm of possibility for him to still be around and kicking. Thráin is also still alive too at 277 and cannon wise he lived to 206 (book)/297 (movie) so he's another one I don't feel guilty about keeping around.

**Silver pup**


	21. Act II: The Rogue - Chapter Seven

Disclaimer: I do not own any familiar characters/settings/plot featured in this story. They all belong to (most likely rolling in his grave) **J.R.R. Tolkien**.

* * *

**A**ct **II**: **T**he **R**ogue

**C**hapter **S**even

* * *

"Are you sure you're ready to return to work? Because I'm sure Master Óin wouldn't mind if you stayed home another day," fretted Dori as he hovered over Bilbo like a pesky fly.

The Hobbit waved him away with one hand as he double-checked his pack for work. "I'm well enough now to handle checking in on my patients, Dori. That hardly takes much effort on my part."

"But what if you get tired? Or tasked with something difficult?" pushed the Dwarf, frowning.

"Then I'll sit down and rest or ask for someone else to complete the job," he replied, rolling his eyes. "Really now what do you expect to happen at a clinic full of _healers_?"

Dori kept frowning but finally stepped back and gave Bilbo some space to breathe. "I've packed you a lunch," he admitted, nodding to the neat package wrapped in a vibrant pink cloth. "I put in extra apples. I know how much you like them."

"Thank you," he said, shooting the old Dwarf a smile. "I—"

He was interrupted by a knock on the front door. They both turned to face it before Dori clicked his tongue. "That must be Bofur. He volunteered to walk you to work," he explained, reaching over to pick up the lunch he had packed and handing it to Bilbo.

"Why is he walking me to work? Did you think I was going to get robbed or something?" he wondered, taking the package.

"It was Nori's idea. He would have taken you himself but..." Dori trailed off, and gave him a helpless look.

"But he's still angry at me," he finished for the Dwarf, sighing. "I understand. Well, I best get going. It's going to take me a good amount of time to get there as it is."

Dori followed him to the door where, as the weaver had predicted, Bofur stood waiting dressed for work with his tools. When he noticed the duo, he tipped his hat in greeting and gave them a wide, dimple smile.

"Morning, Bilbo! Morning, Dori! Isn't it a wonderful day?" he chirped, looking far too awake for so early in the morning.

Bilbo gave the Dwarf a look of disgust. "Ugh, I hate morning people," he muttered, turning to face Dori. "I'm off to work then. I'll see you tonight for dinner."

Dori nodded. "Yes. Be safe," he said, his mouth tilting down in warning, "and please, if possible, stay _out_ of the Lead District."

Bilbo and Bofur shared a grimace. "Yes, Mother," Bilbo replied, limping off before Dori's look could descend into something worse.

"Bye, Dori!" Bofur shouted behind him before hurrying to catch up to him. Once at his side, the Dwarf reached down to snag Bilbo's lunch with one hand while the other looped around Bilbo's elbow.

"What are you doing?" the Hobbit asked, stopping to look down at the arm now wrapped around his.

"Helpin' ya walk to work," Bofur replied, blinking down at him innocently.

"I can walk just fine. Now let go of me," he ordered, pointing a finger at Bofur's face.

The miner did as bid and held up his free hand as he took a step away. "As ya wish. But if ya fall then I'm afraid I have to carry ya. Promised Nori and all that, and don't wanna be makin' him any angrier than he is already."

"Ugh. Nori needs to get over this whole thing and move on," Bilbo grumbled, hobbling off again towards the staircase that would lead him to the Amber District. "I'm not dead and my wounds are healing—what more does he want?"

"Askin' the wrong person here. I don't hold onto the past if I can help it," said Bofur, following and easily rejoining him. Though he walked closer to the healer than he usually did, Bilbo decided not to call him on it.

"Dori says he's trying to deal with the idea of caring about someone else for the first time in his life," he explained, wrinkling his nose as he recalled the conversation. "Apparently, I'm the first friend Nori has ever made. It's so pathetic that I can't even make fun of him for it."

Bofur's face broke out into a smile so wide that Bilbo was momentarily afraid his jaw was going to unhinge. "Awww, Bilbo, that's so cute! You're his One!" the miner practically cooed like a proud grandmother.

Bilbo leaned a bit away from the beaming Dwarf, and tried to recall where he heard the familiar phrase. "His One? What the hell is that?"

"It's something like a Dwarrow ideal. A One is the first person ya learn to care for that isn't yourself," explained the miner, smile never breaking. "It's a big deal 'cuz it means ya supposed to become more aware of others and shit."

"Oh. I think I heard of it before, but it had more to do with romance," he said as he recalled the stories he had heard in taverns. "Something about Dwarves loving once one in their life?"

"Nah, that's just what the bards like to sing to make a copper," Bofur replied, shaking his head. "They get that idea 'cuz the first Dwarrow to ever coin the phrase did fall in love. See, long ago, when the Seven Fathers were still around, there lived a Dwarrow named Gíti son of Forseti of the Seven Fathers. Out of all the Sevens' sons he was the second eldest and most gifted at creating chainmail. None of the others could come close to his skill or his dedication to his task. Gíti lived only to learn his father's teachings and strived everyday to make both sire and Maker proud of him. But this also meant he never paid any mind to his fellow apprentices or the world around him. His narrow focus kept him secluded and oblivious to how great life could be outsides' his workshop.

"Now one day this Dwarrow was at work at his father's forge when a voice called out to him. When he looked up to see who it was, there stood a Dwarrow with hair the color of fire and eyes the color of iron. It was Hergrímur son of Dellingr of the Seven Fathers; fifth eldest of the apprentices and most beautiful of them all. Gíti fell for this beautiful lad then and there, and from that point on could no longer focus only on his craft and Mahâl. For he had seen the one person capable of drawing him away from both, and from then on whenever a Dwarrow meets a soul who makes them see beyond them self, they become their One forever more."

"That's very... interesting," Bilbo said slowly. "I didn't realize how much more meaning there was to it. I think I like it better this way."

"Yeah, the one outsiders like to tell tales about don't really describe it right," acknowledged the miner, pushing his hat up with two fingers as it slid down his forehead. "A One is so much more than just someone ya share ya bed with."

"Hmm." Bilbo scratched his injured thigh, mindful of the stitches there as he mused over the story. "What were their names?"

"Who?"

"The Seven Fathers," he clarified, looking up at his friend. "I've only ever heard of Durin and no one else. So what were their names? What did they do? What happened to them? And why aren't they mentioned as often as Durin?"

Bofur blinked a few times before chuckling. "Ya sure do like to ask questions, huh?"

Bilbo shrugged one shoulder in acknowledgment. "I like to learn. Now will you please answer me?"

"Mmm. Well, as ya know, Durin the Deathless was the first born and started the _Sigin-tarâg_ or 'Longbeards' as ya would know them 'cuz that's who most of the locals be," explained the miner, waving an arm around them. "After him was Alvíss the Wise who awoke in Ered Luin and founded the Broadbeams. With him, in the same mountain range but not the same mountain, awoke Dellingr the Shining who started the Firebeards. The fourth to awaken was Hermóðr the Warrior who founded the Ironfists in the north of Orocarni. With him awoke Forseti the Judger who started the Stiffbeards also near the north of Orocarni. To the south of them was Meili the Wild who started the House of Stonefoots, and then finally Vör the Watchful from who the Blacklocks descend."

"So... the Seven Houses are Longbeards, Broadbeams, Firebeards, Ironfists, and... Stonefeet?" Bilbo listed slowly, trying to recall all seven names only to come up short.

"Stonefoots," corrected Bofur, nodding. "And the Stiffbeards and Blacklocks."

"And which House are you from?"

"I'm a Broadbeam just like Bombur and Bifur. Bjarte is too but he's also half Firebeard on his ma's side. That's where he got them green eyes."

"Green eyes are a Firebeard trait then?" questioned the healer.

The Dwarf nodded. "Aye. Green eyes and red hair and thick frames. Broadbeams always have dark eyes and dark or blond hair. We also tend to be better looking," he replied, giving the Hobbit a wink.

"Bombur has red hair," Bilbo pointed out, raising his brows.

"Mmm. We probably have some Firebeard in us too, but don't know where it comes from," Bofur admitted, nodding. "The bloodlines get kinda muddy after awhile. Only royalty and nobles really keep track of their lines."

"Why?"

"To prove their right to rule. All kings gotta link up to Durin the Deathless in some way to prove they got a right to the throne."

"That's a stupid rule," Bilbo said, wrinkling his nose in distaste. "What about the other four clans? Did they stay in Orocarni?"

"Most did, yeah, but I think some of the Stonefoots and Stiffbeards migrated over to the Iron Hills and Erebor. I know the Crown Prince and his brother be part Stonefoots from their pa's side."

"Really?" Bilbo said in surprise, blinking a few times.

Bofur nodded as he smoothly dodged a pair of arguing Dwarves. "Yeah. Ya can't really tell with the Crown Prince 'cuz he mostly pulls the Durin side, but it's obvious with Prince Kíli. He's tall and lean and got them wide eyes and darker skin. Those are all Stonefoots traits."

"I had wondered why he and his father were taller and skinnier than other Dwarves," the healer admitted, thinking back on his tea party with Prince Vílin and Prince Kíli and the Princess Dís. "It didn't occur to me that the reason was because they were from different clans. Wait, what is Hamide then?"

"She's a Blacklocks through and through," Bofur said, grinning. "That clan don't really like to mix with others if they can help it."

Bilbo groaned, and rubbed his forehead with both hands. "I'm getting a headache from all these new names. I'll need to write this all down later so I don't forget."

"Do you really write down everything we tell ya?" wondered Bofur, arching one of his shaggy dark brows.

"Of course," he replied, raising his chin high and giving the miner a judging look. "It's important stuff and I don't want to forget it—why are you looking at me like that?"

Bofur—whose smile had grown into another disturbing, jaw snapping heights—shook his head, and turned back to the staircase they had arrived at. "No reason, Master Healer. No reason at all."

* * *

Bilbo's first day back to work was a slow and boring affair filled with worried coworkers and fussy patients. Óin had spread the word that he had been mugged walking home and therefore Bilbo had to endure endless questions and fretting from everyone at the clinic. Even the guards—who usually ignored the healers—expressed some concern when they saw the Hobbit limping about. It was both touching and annoying as all he really wanted to do was focus on doing his job. When his shift was finally done, he slipped out before anyone could notice, and thought he was nearly free when a familiar voice called out to him.

"Master Baggins?"

Bilbo turned around, blinking a few times when a Dwarf he knew all too well stepped out from behind a pillar. "Thorin? What are you doing here? Besides creeping around like a weirdo, I mean."

Thorin—dressed in a plain blue tunic with the sleeves rolled up and black pants matched by black leather boots—sashayed over to him while looking him up and down. He had his hair loose this time; unbraided and wild without a hint of shame. Only his beard he kept neatly braided and tucked into his belt.

"I was not creeping around," scolded the guard as he joined the Hobbit. "I was waiting for you."

"For me?" he repeated, blinking in surprise. "Why? Do you have another murder you need help in solving again?"

Thorin smirked and shook his head. "No, not to my knowledge," he said, lacing his hands behind his back. "I had heard news that you were injured down in the Lead District so I came to check up on you."

"Oh." Bilbo blinked a few times, honestly taken back. He hadn't been expecting the guard to care enough to go so far as to visit him. "Thank you. I'm fine now as you can see."

Thorin arched one dubious brow. "You're limping."

"Well, my leg _is_ still healing," he defended, raising his chin in challenge. "And how did you know I was injured in the Lead District? Óin has been telling everyone it was a mugging."

"I was present when he came to the palace to rant to the princess about it," explained the guard, shrugging his broad shoulders. "He was quite upset about it. Do you requite assistance getting home?"

"No, but you can walk with me if you like," granted the healer with a sniff before turning on his heel and shambling off. A few seconds later Thorin was at his side; pace obviously slower than normal in consideration of Bilbo's injury.

Bilbo felt something in his stomach jump at the realization, and absently wondered if he was coming down with something.

"You sure do have a lot of free time for a guard," he commented after a few minutes of awkward silence.

"Do you think my princes have only one guard between them?" Thorin scoffed, arching a brow. "I am but one of a dozen of the best warriors in the kingdom who have pledged their lives in service to the Royal Family. My princes are always safe whether I am at their side or not."

"Fair enough," Bilbo granted, nodding. "In that case, would you mind answering some questions I have about the guard?"

"That depends. What are your questions?"

"How many different guard factions are there? Since I arrived, I've noticed a lot of different colored uniforms," he explained, gesturing to a pair of guards passing by dressed in iron armor with red lining.

"Those are the Sentinels. They walk the streets and guard the common people," Thorin clarified, nodding to Bilbo and the other Dwarves passing by. "They are the lowest of the three sects of guards and can always be identified by the red markings on their uniforms. Above them are the Imperial Guards who protect the palace, the guildhalls and ministries, and other important locations. They are easy to spot as they wear white with their uniforms. Finally there are the Royal Guards whose sole duty is to protect the Royal Family, and who always wear blue and gold."

"But those aren't all the sects of soldiers, right?" Bilbo pushed, recalling the Office of Investigations and the guards he had seen there.

"No. There are other departments, but their focus is not on protecting people or monuments. Not like the guards," explained Thorin. He then studied Bilbo for a moment before asking, "You are very interested in Erebor's history and culture. Why?"

He shrugged. "No reason. I simply love to learn, and history is my favorite subject. Usually, when I arrive at a new place, I would find a book about it and read it to educate myself. But here all your books are written in Khuzdûl, so now I must ask others in order to get my answers."

"Hmm. That is a problem." Thorin furrowed his brows for a moment as he seemed to think hard over something. Bilbo had to resist the urge to warn him not to hurt himself. "Well then, until you are satisfied, I will answer any questions you have regarding the kingdom as long as they are not too inquisitive."

The healer raised his brows in surprise. "Really? But I thought you Dwarves hate to share your past and society with outsiders?" he teased.

"Some Dwarrow do not like to share as they are possessive and easily roused to jealousy," Thorin admitted easily, nodding. "But I personally enjoy showing off my people and our kingdom to outsiders. We are noble race with a rich history and even richer culture, and to inform others—why are you laughing?"

Bilbo held up an apologetic hand while the other covered his mouth as he tried to muffle his giggles. "I'm sorry, but you just look so proud of yourself there! Like a child who is telling an adult about their new sibling."

Thorin sniffed and raised his nose in the air. "Why wouldn't I be proud? My people are remarkable. Don't you do the same for your kind?"

Bilbo blinked in surprise. "Well, I suppose I would, but most folk don't care to ask," he explained, thinking the question over. "Once I tell them we're nomads, they tend to lose interest or assume they know all there is. But I guess there isn't really much more to know. My people are pretty simple to understand—we like good food, value family and friends, and strive to win back the Shire from Smaug. There's really nothing more to know."

"I find that hard to believe," disagreed Thorin, shaking his head.

Bilbo simply shrugged. "So how are your charges doing?" he asked, changing the subject.

Thorin gave him a look that said he knew what the Hobbit was doing, but still went along with it. "They are well. Prince Kíli has completely recovered and is back to his normal self. Prince Fíli, meanwhile, is helping prepare for the arrival of Lord Dáin of the Iron Hills and Lady Hafsa of Orocarni. They should be arriving within the next few weeks."

"That should be interesting. I haven't heard much of this noble lady, but I've heard plenty of Lord Dáin. He sounds like a good sort," he commented, keeping Óin's warning words to himself.

"Lord Dáin is a Dwarrow of virtue," agreed Thorin, his face relaxing into a fond smile. "Having him around is always a pleasure. The... King is very close to him as are Princess Dís and... Prince Frerin."

Bilbo raised his brows at the pause in Thorin's voice when he spoke of Prince Frerin. "I haven't met Prince Frerin yet," he said carefully, watching the guard's face. "Óin mentioned he doesn't like to stay in the palace much. Why?"

Thorin licked his lips as he seemed to think the question over. "Well, Prince Frerin is very independent, you see, and the King can be a bit... overprotective of His Highness," he said slowly, wincing when he mentioned the King. "Prince Frerin doesn't care to be caged or coddled hence why he lives outside of the palace."

"Why is His Majesty so protective of him? Is Prince Frerin weak or something?" wondered the healer.

The Dwarf scoffed and shook his head. "No, no it's nothing like that. It is simply how the King is. He's the same with the rest of the family," he explained before stopping as the duo came to the staircase that led down to the Tin District.

"I'm afraid this is as far as I go," Thorin said, brows scrunching together as he met Bilbo's eyes. "Will you be able to get home from here?"

"Of course," he replied, rolling his eyes. "I wounded my leg, I didn't lose it. Thank you for walking me this far though. I appreciate it."

Thorin's lips twitched into a small, upward tilt that could almost be called a smile. "It was my pleasure. Until next time, Mas—I mean, Bilbo," he said, quickly correcting himself when Bilbo raised his brows.

"Until next time," the Hobbit agreed with a smile as he ignored the strange flutter he got in the pit of his stomach at the thought.

* * *

That night, when he returned to the 'Ri home, Bilbo found a surprise waiting for him.

"A letter? For me?" he said, dropping his pack onto the ground of Ori's room.

Ori nodded from his desk, and held up a crinkled and worn envelop for him to see. "Yes. Nori said it came this morning after you had set off for work."

Curious, Bilbo reached out and took it, and easily slipped it open. Inside he found a five page letter written in the familiar swirls of his uncle Isengrim. Reading through it quickly, he found that his uncle had received the letter Bilbo had sent explaining his situation, and agreed that the healer had made the right call in bailing out Nori. From there it advised Bilbo to work hard on earning back the money spent, and then went into the usual format of informing him of everything that had occurred since he had left.

"Who's it from?" asked Ori as he folded his arms on the top of the chair to rest his chin upon.

"My uncle back in Rivendell—Isengrim," Bilbo said, half his attention still focused on the parchment in his hand. "He received my letter and wanted to let me know how things fare. Nothing too interesting, honestly."

"That's the one who raised you, right? After your parents passed away?" Ori questioned.

He nodded, still absorbed in his letter. "Yes, that's correct. He took me in personally and raised me to adulthood. I owe him a lot for that."

"Oh." Ori went silent for a long moment before quietly asking, "Do you... Do you miss them a lot?"

Bilbo looked up and blinked a few times as his brain caught up with the conversation. "Who—? You mean my clan? Of course I do. They're my family. I always miss them when I'm away."

Ori frowned and sat up straight. "Are you not happy here?" he demanded, a hint of anger coloring his words.

Bilbo chuckled and shook his head. "Of course I am happy," he replied. "You and your brothers are very good friends as are Bofur and his family, and even Óin when he's not being a grump. I've even come to enjoy living in Erebor."

"But?" pushed the Dwarf.

"But I miss my family too," he added, giving the scribe a sad smile. "I miss arguing with my cousins and teasing my uncles and listening to my aunts. I miss my Aunt Holly's apple pies and listening to my Uncle Hildifons try tosing. I miss waking up in the middle of the night because of my cousin Flambard's snoring, and nicking sugar cubes with my cousin Primula. I miss... I just miss _being_ with them."

"Oh." Ori slumped back down and returned to resting his chin on his forearms. "I'm sorry, Bilbo."

"For what?"

"For not thinking about how hard this must be for you. For being happy to have you here and wishing you would stay forever," the Dwarf said, his face turning a light pink. "Bilbo, you've become one of my best friends, and I don't want you to leave. Even now, knowing how miserable you must be, I'm still happy you're here with me instead of with them."

Bilbo set down his stack of letters, and reached over to pat Ori's head. "You have nothing to be sorry for," he disagreed, shaking his head. "I do miss my family, yes, _but_ I'm also really happy here. You and your brothers have made me feel welcome and safe and happy. That's not an easy feat to manage."

"Oh. That's good then. Bilbo?"

"Yes?"

"When you get your army and leave to fight this dragon, I want to come with you."

Bilbo nearly fell over from shock. "What?! Ori, that's—"

"I want to help you and your people get your land back," interrupted Ori, sitting up straight again as his green eyes went steely. "I don't want you to have to worry about where you'll go to next, or when your next meal will be. I want you to be safe and happy even... even if it means you'll leave Erebor. So I'm going to help you fight Smaug and get your kingdom back."

Bilbo opened his mouth but could not find any words to voice his shock and sudden surge of affection. No one outside of his clan had ever made such a meaningful promise to him before. No one had ever looked him straight in the eye and made such a claim. It was... strange and new and touching all at once, and he had no words to express such emotions.

"I... Thank you, Ori," he finally decided to say though it lacked the meaning he wanted. "No one has ever made me such a promise before. You're the first."

Ori smirked, and tossed some of his braids out of his face. "Don't worry," he said, green eyes glinting in the candle light, "I'm sure I won't be the last."


	22. Act II: The Rogue - Chapter Eight

Disclaimer: I do not own any familiar characters/settings/plot featured in this story. They all belong to (most likely rolling in his grave) **J.R.R. Tolkien**.

* * *

**A**ct **II**: **T**he **R**ogue

**C**hapter **E**ight

* * *

Bilbo knew it was going to be one of _those_ days when he arrived at work and found people staring at him.

_What did I do now?_ he wondered, already walking to Óin's office without waiting. He knocked on the door and entered when he received a positive sounding grunt. Peeking in, he cocked his head to the side and stared at his boss sitting at his desk.

"What happened?" he asked, taking in Óin's slumped shoulders and pinched expression.

Óin looked up and stared at him for a moment before waving him in. "We got another situation," he growled, blue eyes dark and narrowed between the lines of his face. "A patient came in for treatment for a rash on her face. We gave her a poultice and it burned her through her skin. Apparently, it was made incorrectly, and according to the books it was made by _you_."

"I see." Bilbo leaned back against the closed door and closed his eyes. He wasn't surprised by the news that he had been jeopardized again but he was hurt by it. Part of him had been hoping the ruined plants had nothing to do with him on a personal level, but obviously that wasn't the case. Someone at the clinic had it out for him, and they were willing to stoop to whatever means they needed to hurt him.

"What is my punishment?" he asked quietly.

"You're not going to try and defend yourself?" questioned Óin, his voice even.

Bilbo shrugged as he kept his eyes closed. "There's no point. Whether I did make a mistake or not, the patient has already been hurt because of me."

"That doesn't make you guilty," disagreed Óin, voice softening a fraction.

"I disagree," he said calmly, finally opening his eyes to meet Óin's gaze straight on. "Just tell me my punishment, Óin, so I can get it over with and move on with my life."

"You're giving into this too easily," Óin declared, brows lowering and a frown forming. "Why? This isn't like you. You're not this... docile."

Bilbo simply shrugged again. "This isn't the first time I've pissed someone off with my success," he said softly.

Óin's eyes widened for a moment before returning to their narrowed state. "You'll finish up your shift here today," he ordered sternly, voice lowering a pitch. "Then take the next three days off as punishment. Report back to work after that."

Bilbo nodded. "Of course. Anything else?"

Óin opened his mouth but paused before shaking his head. "No. No, there's nothing else."

Bilbo nodded once more, gave a short bow, and then left Óin behind.

* * *

Bilbo spent the rest of his day quietly doing his job while avoiding the looks and whispers of his fellow healers. When his shift was finally over, he quickly slipped out and made his way down the stairs when a prince stopped him in his tracks. Somehow, after the day he was having, he wasn't surprised.

"Prince Kíli," he said slowly, staring at the brunet as he sashayed over to the Hobbit in a strangely familiar fashion that he could not place. "What are you doing here? Where are your guards?"

"Hullo, Master Boggins. It's nice to see you too," the prince greeted back cheerfully, dressed in plain leathers and a brown, hooded cloak with the hood down. "My guards are back at the palace where I'm sure they discovered me gone, and are now probably trying to find me without alerting my uncle or brother. I wish them all the best of luck."

Bilbo blinked a few times before groaning and covering his face. "Oh. Oh _no_. You're an asshole just like Óin. Eru give me strength."

Prince Kíli laughed. "I can see why Óin likes you so much. You're pretty funny."

"Thank you," he returned automatically, peeking out between his fingers to look at the prince. "Now why are you here instead of in the palace where you belong?"

"I needed to see you without attracting attention," the prince explained, glancing around the area. "Is there somewhere we can speak without being overheard?"

Bilbo nodded, and pointed to an alley next to the clinic. "Sure. Follow me."

He led the prince to the secluded space and then turned on him with a questioning look. "So. What is it you need to say?" he asked, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back against the stone wall to take some of the weight off his leg. It had been four days since his injury and while the wound was healing well, it still hurt when he put too much weight on it.

Prince Kíli took in a deep breath before releasing it slowly. "I've come to ask for your help in a... delicate matter," he said carefully.

Bilbo pointed to himself in surprise. "_Me_? Why?"

"You helped solve the cause of Lord Eikar's death recently, correct?" asked the prince, lacing his hands behind his back. Bilbo was suddenly, strongly, reminded of Thorin whenever they spoke. "And before that you helped cure me by putting together the causes of my illness."

"I wouldn't phrase it quite so dramatically but, yeah, I helped. What of it?"

"You are a very talented and lucky sort, Master Boggins—"

"Baggins," he corrected, rolling his eyes.

"—and I need that sort of folk right now," finished the prince, ignoring the interruption. "Plus, you helped thwart two plots which have, indirectly, involved you in my situation."

"You can start making sense any day now."

Prince Kíli smiled before growing serious once more. "Tell me, do you know where Erebor gets her food from?"

"Food? From trading with Dale, right?" he replied, thinking back to what he had heard from Dori.

The Dwarf nodded. "Correct. The land outside of the mountain has thought to be infertile for centuries, and so we have been forced to rely on our neighbors for aid in getting food to Erebor. Until now."

"What changed?" Bilbo questioned, raising his brows.

"Nothing, unless you count my birth as a change," said the prince, smirking. "You see, for the past few years I have been trying to figure out a way to use the land outside the mountain to grow crops. I have been experimenting with different soils from around the regions and the different methods in growing and caring for crops. I admit, it has not been an easy trial. My people have never been farmers or maintained any interest in growing anything so I have been forced to rely on outside help. One form was an herbalist from Dale named Tuor. With his skills and familiarity, we have been experimenting with the different soils and methods, and at long last I believe we have finally found a way."

"But something has gone wrong," he stated, finding himself interested despite his better judgment.

Prince Kíli sighed. "Yes, something went wrong. Lord Motvari discovered my plans," he said, mouth twitching into a scowl.

Bilbo had no idea who the hell that was. "Who the hell is that?" he asked, voicing his thoughts.

"Lord Motvari is a powerful noble who is also Head Merchant of Erebor. He owns many small businesses in many different areas, but his main source of wealth and success comes from the trade of food," explained the prince, his scowl darkening even further. "He holds a monopoly on the food trade from Dale and Lake-town and is, essentially, the one who decides when and where food is brought into the kingdom. If my plan to become self-reliant in food succeeds, his business will be ruined."

"And that's why he needs to stop you," connected the healer. "But why do you think he knows?"

"Two reasons," said the prince, holding up two fingers. "First was when I became ill. Lord Naglur was the one who gave me the painting sprinkled in nickel, and after he was arrested, he admitted to trying to poison me through exposure to nickel. His motive was some nonsense about my mother offending him and seeking revenge for it, but I know it was because Lord Motvari told him to do it. Lord Naglur's son is married Lord Motvari's nephew—they are tied together by marriage so he must obey him. The second reason was Lord Eikar."

Now _that_ was a name he knew. "Lord Eikar?"

"Yes. Lord Eikar was the Minster of Stone and a Dwarrow of integrity so naturally I turned to him for help," explained the Dwarf. "He was the one who tracked down Master Tuor in Dale to help me, and aided me in finding the different soil sources."

"Wait, there was an herbalist who sent the green dragon to Lord Eikar," Bilbo realized, recalling the details of the case. "He was found murdered shortly after Lord Eikar was killed. Was he—?"

"The one who was aiding me?" predicted the dwarf, nodding. "Yes. Master Tuor was the herbalist who sent the green dragon to Lord Eikar, but it was not to kill him as everyone says. It was a tester plant that he had grown in the soil we found. It was to show Lord Eikar that he succeeded in our experiment. His sudden murder and Lord Eikar's suspicious death—it was all faked in order to deprive me of my allies."

"So... what do you want from me in this?"

Prince Kíli's dark eyes grew steely as he straightened his spine. "I want you to help me prove that Lord Motvari is responsible for Lord Eikar and Master Tuor's deaths," he announced. "I want you to help me in stopping him for good before he succeeds in killing me."

Bilbo nearly fell over in shock. "_Me_?" he squeaked, pointing at himself again. "Why? Why not go to your brother for help? Or your uncle? Surely they could do more for you than a nobody like _me_!"

"My uncle is too noticeable. If he starts investigating, Lord Motvari is sure to discover it, and will find a way to protect himself from any accusations. As for my brother..." Prince Kíli's face twisted into an expression of pain. "I don't wish to bother him. He has many duties as Crown Prince that he must attend to. This is something I must do alone."

"But you still have other relatives to call on. Surely one of them could help," Bilbo pointed out, recalling Lord Glóin and the guard Dwalin.

Prince Kíli stubbornly shook his head. "They won't. Master Baggins, I am the youngest prince and one of the youngest in the family. Everyone is very protective of me!" he cried, gesturing to himself with one hand. "They would never let me get involved in any of this! Worse still, if they found out I was in danger, they would lock me up in the palace again. Please, Master Baggins. You are the only one who has had any success in this, and the only one who won't turn me away. Please help me."

Bilbo looked up into the prince's brown eyes, and felt his resistance begin to crumble. He couldn't name what it was, but something in the prince's face resonated within him. His look—desperate and afraid but also so determined—reminded him of another. Someone who he could not place but knew was important anyway.

"If I do this, I need you to help me with something in return," he said quietly, pushing himself off the wall to move closer to the Dwarf.

Prince Kíli raised his chin. "Anything. Name your price."

"I'm looking for the Blue Iron," he said, lowering his voice even more. "I have an offer for them and—why are you laughing?"

The cackling prince held up a hand while the other clutched his stomach. "Master Baggins," he gasped between chuckles, "if you help me with this, I will take you to meet the boss of the Blue Iron himself."

Bilbo's jaw dropped to his chest. "You—how do _you_ know of the Blue Iron?!"

"That's a se-cr-et!" chanted the prince, tapping his lips with a finger. "I'll tell you the tale on another day. So do I have your word?"

Bilbo stared for a moment longer before nodding his head hastily. "Yes. I'll help you put these bastards in jail as long as you allow me to meet the ruler of the Blue Iron," he declared.

Prince Kíli erupted into a smile that could have rivaled the sun with its beauty and light. "Deal. Now I'm afraid I must leave before my brother sends out a search party. Or worse, my _mother_," he said, making a face of horrified disgust that brought out a laugh from Bilbo. "I will speak with you again once I get more information."

Bilbo nodded as the prince pulled his hood up and adjusted it so his face was partly hidden. "I will ask around for information in the meantime," he said. "Please be safe returning to the palace."

"I am always safe," promised the young prince with a wink before he bounded off with a quick farewell. Bilbo waved goodbye and waited until the Dwarf was gone before letting out a deep sigh.

_What the hell did I just do?_ he wondered before the sound of something falling caught his attention. He turned around and nearly screamed when he found a familiar figure standing right behind him.

"Nori! Don't scare me like that!" he scolded, holding a hand to his chest as his heart threatened to leap out. "Where did you even come from?"

"The roof," replied the thief, pointing above them to the ledge of a nearby building with his face was set into a familiar scowl. "I followed you when I saw you going into this alley with a stranger, and I can't believe what I just heard. Did you seriously just make a deal with Prince Kíli?"

Bilbo met Nori's scowl with one of his own. "You know, I'm pretty sure Dori taught you that eavesdropping is rude."

"So is conspiring to put a noble in prison in order to secure a meeting with an outlawed mercenary group," retorted Nori, bracing his hands on his hips and looming over the Hobbit. "You can't go up against Lord Motvari, Bilbo. He's one of the richest Dwarrows in the kingdom—it's suicide!"

"So is challenging a dragon. Doesn't mean I'm not gonna do it," he shot back, crossing his arms over his chest.

"I won't let you do this. I'll lock you up myself if I must. Don't think I won't," threatened the thief, poking him in the chest.

Bilbo smacked the hand away with a huff. "Nori, have you secured a meeting with the Blue Iron for me yet?" he asked, abruptly changing the subject.

Nori faltered. "I..."

"What about Bifur? Has he heard any word either?" he pushed, not letting up.

"Bifur has the Shadow fuckers to deal with. I told him to focus on them and leave the Iron to me," Nori explained, looking away.

"But you haven't had any success," he pointed out, arching his brows. "None of us have until now. If Prince Kíli can help me meet the Blue Iron, then I will take on this double-crossing murderer for him."

"Bilbo—"

"He killed Lord Eikar and that herbalist in Dale. He tried to kill Prince Kíli and even used his own family to do it. He nearly sent _you_ to prison for a crime you didn't even commit. He's probably done even more than that, and yet you still stand here and tell me not to fight him?" Bilbo shook his head with a frown. "No, I can't do that, Nori. It's not right."

Nori stared down at him with his eyes the color of swamps and his mouth a pinched line. "You and your damn conscious," he muttered, shaking his head. "Why can't you be...?"

Bilbo smiled, and held his hands out innocently. "I am what I am, Nori. Would you like me if I was anything less?" he teased.

Nori flicked him on the forehead. "Brat. Fine. Fine! But we're doing this _my_ way."

"Your—?"

"What? Thought I was gonna let you do this alone?" Nori snorted and gave him the judging look such a comment deserved. "You don't even know where he lives."

"I would've figured it out," he defended, trying not to pout. "So what do you have planned?"

"First we need to make a visit," Nori declared, running his tongue over his canines. "Because if we're gonna do this, we're gonna need help and _a lot_ of luck."

Bilbo simply grinned. "Well then, let's get started."

* * *

Sorry this chapter is so short and not up to my usual quality, but I'm afraid that's all I can do for now. Next chapter will be better but it won't be out next week, unfortunately. I have some real life stuff to deal with so no time to write. It will be up the following Monday though so see you all then!

**Silver pup**


	23. Act II: The Rogue - Chapter Nine

Disclaimer: I do not own any familiar characters/settings/plot featured in this story. They all belong to (most likely rolling in his grave) **J.R.R. Tolkien**.

* * *

**A**ct **II**: **T**he **R**ogue

**C**hapter **N**ine

* * *

"I'm sorry, but can ya repeat that? I don't think I heard ya right," ordered Bifur, rubbing one of his ears clean with his pinky. "Because I'm pretty sure ya didn't just ask me to help ya'll send _Lord Motvari_ to prison."

"Getting old are we?" Nori mocked, wiggling his braided brows. "Big surprise. Should I go out and buy you a cane or do you want to do it yourself?"

Bilbo elbowed the thief in the side. "Knock it off," he ordered before turning his attention back to the 'Ur family before him. "Bifur, you heard me correctly. I need help in finding evidence to prove Motvari is a murdering bastard."

"Bilbo, do ya even know who Motvari is?" Bofur questioned, sharing a look with Bombur, who sat next to him. "He's not the type ya can just take on when ya feel like it. He's one of the most powerful figures in the kingdom."

"He's also responsible for killing Lord Eikar and his herbalist and nearly sending Nori to prison," retorted the Hobbit, raising his chin stubbornly. "I'm taking him down regardless of whatever power he holds."

Bofur just raised an eyebrow while behind him, leaning against a table, Bjarte groaned and buried his face in his hand. "It's like talking to a brick wall with ya. Nori, how have ya not smothered him in his sleep yet?"

"I haven't found a well deep enough to dump his body in yet," deadpanned the thief, earning himself another elbow in the side from the healer.

"If ya do this and succeed, ya'll earn the ire of Lord Motvari's family and allies," Bombur pointed out in his quiet voice. He folded his hands in his lap and regarded Bilbo with the same dark eyes as his brother and cousin. "They won't forget your hand in this, and will seek out revenge. Do ya understand that?"

"I know, and I believe I can handle it. I'll be leaving Erebor when spring arrives—that's only two seasons away. I just have to survive until then," replied Bilbo, holding up two fingers and wiggling them at the Dwarf.

Bombur did not look convinced. "That's more than enough time for them to hurt or even kill ya," he pointed out, red brows rising.

Bilbo shrugged, unconcerned. "I've survived this long for a reason, Bombur. I'll survive the next two seasons."

Bombur exchanged another look with Bofur that he couldn't read. Whatever passed between them had Bombur sighing and shaking his head while Bofur flashed his trademark dimple grin. "Then we best get started," the miner chirped, turning back to Bilbo and Nori where they sat across from him. "First we gotta scout out his home and businesses. Maybe ask around and see who works for him and shit."

"We'll need a map of his house," Bifur admitted grudgingly, sharing a disgruntled look with his husband from his place on the floor where he was leaning against Bombur's legs. "Scout out his allies too. Also find out who he's managed to piss off. They might give us a hand in taking him down."

"I think we all know he's pissed off everyone from the East Faction," pointed out Nori, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees and pressing the tips of his fingers together. "Anyone from them or their allies would be happy to see him dead or in prison."

"What's the East Faction?" wondered Bilbo, looking to Bombur for clarification.

"It's a name for the supporters of the King. See, Erebor has two factions of power: the West Faction and the East Faction," Bombur explained, holding up his hands to demonstrate each faction. "The West Faction is made up of nobles who hold no relation to the King and who push for more power to be shared among them. The East Faction, on the other hand, is made of relatives of the Royal Family who all favor the King keeping that power. Obviously they don't get along, and are always bickering about different issues in Court and trying to gain more power over one another."

Bifur snorted and shook his head. "It's a messed up fight that been going on for generations. They refuse to even live in the same district as one another! Talk about pathetic."

"Who has the most power right now?" Bilbo asked, glancing to Nori for an answer because he knew the thief kept up on such rumors.

"It's pretty even right now with the East Faction having a slight advantage with the endorsement of the Crown Prince," his friend answered, running his tongue over his teeth in clear thought. "The King is pretty good at keeping a balance between them. He never takes sides or shows any favoritism in Court issues, and deals out awards and punishments without personal bias."

"That's not a surprise. Ori told me his grandfather was a brilliant politician," Bilbo commented, recalling the many long and passionate lectures Ori had hosted at dinner about the previous king.

"He was a fucking shrewd old goat," agreed Nori with a nod. "Dori says he kept the whole Court on their toes during his reign. His grandson is good too but I think the Crown Prince has more of a knack for it. It will be interesting to see what he'll do when the King gives him more of a role in Court."

"Speaking of princes, did Prince Kíli mention _why_ he was tryin' to grow shit like an Elf?" asked Bifur, looking up at Bilbo with a brow raised.

The Hobbit shook his head. "No. All he said was that it was his goal to make the land fertile."

"Probably wants to get out from under Motvari's thumb," commented Bofur, pushing some of his loose hair over his shoulder. He had, for the first time since they met, taken off his hat and set it aside to undo his braids so his hair hung down to his elbows in loose waves. "I hate how much power that guy has over the rest of us. The King is acceptable 'cuz of his blood but Motvari isn't even a _high ranking _noble. He's just a smart bastard with no morals and a lot of money."

"Which is why it will be easy to find information on him," commented Bombur, shooting a look to Bjarte that Bilbo couldn't read. Whatever it meant, it had the blond Dwarf nodding in agreement to the unspoken question.

"Time to pay a visit to the Promenade. That's the only place to get anything accurate," he said, pushing himself off the table to stand up straight. "Bombur, can ya take Bilbo to the Aluminum District tomorrow? The rest of us have to work but ya be off, yeah?"

"Bilbo has to work too," reminded Nori, rolling his eyes.

Bilbo raised a guilty hand and waved it until he got everyone's attention. "Actually, I have the next three days off," he admitted, giving an awkward smile.

Nori's eyes narrowed slightly. "Why? I thought you hate taking days off?"

"Óin insisted I take a break," he lied, avoiding the thief's probing gaze. He had never mentioned the problems at work to anyone outside the clinic and he had no intention of doing so now. It was his problem to fix, after all. He didn't need to trouble the others with it.

"Then you can go to the Promenade tomorrow with Bombur," declared Bjarte, breaking out into a wide smile. "Perfect! Get the information ya need and then meet us back here tomorrow night. We'll go from there."

Bilbo waved his hand again until everyone turned to look at him. "Question! What is the Promenade and why are we going there?" he asked, leaning back into his seat.

The others all exchanged a look with one another before Bifur finally cackled like a drunken uncle at a family wedding. "It's the black market of Erebor, boyo," he said, flashing Bilbo a smile with all his teeth exposed, "and the best place to find all of Lord Motvari dirty, dark secrets. Trust me—ya gonna _love_ it there."

Bilbo, who recalled the Lead District and his injury all too well, strongly disagreed. "I'm gonna get stabbed again aren't I?"

"It's a possibility," acknowledged Nori, and earning himself another elbow in the side.

* * *

The Aluminum District was situated on the Seventh Level and acted as one of the bases that held up the kingdom. Like the Lead District, its name was misleading as it was not, in fact, made up of solely aluminum. Instead it was built out of sandstone and accentuated by aluminum windows, doors, and street signs. It was one of the larger districts on the Seventh Level, and housed a good deal of shops and stands that Bilbo knew most of the people from the Seventh Level went to for supplies. He himself had passed through it briefly a few times, but never bothered to actually explore the district until now.

"Erebor sure has a lot of different stones to build things with," Bilbo commented to Bombur, who led him through the district with ease. "Where did it all come from? Surely it can't all be from here."

"Most of it is, actually. The mountain range isn't exactly small ya know," pointed out the Dwarf with a grin. "But some of it is imported from other regions. I don't know from where though."

"Oh." Bilbo bit back his disappointment and made a mental note to ask Ori about it later. "Do you know why each district is made up of different materials? I always thought you Dwarves love symmetry and Erebor is the farthest thing from neat and orderly."

Bombur laughed boisterous and freely as most of the 'Ur family seemed to do. "That's true, we do like to design things with symmetry in mind," he admitted, smiling until his dimples were clear. "And Erebor _does_ have those features if ya know where to look. But it also has its own... unique approach to architect."

Bilbo nodded as he studied a passing door carefully. "You're right. The patterns are shaped and molded almost identically." He glanced up to Bombur and gave him a smile. "You're a lot more observant than your brother said. Guess you got some of the brains along with all the good looks."

Bombur hummed and titled his head to the side slightly. "I take it Bofur didn't tell ya then?" he asked, watching the Hobbit.

"Tell me what?"

"That I'm adopted," answered the Dwarf, smiling slightly as Bilbo's jaw dropped. "Baraldur wasn't my blood father but my uncle. My blood father was Balvari—his elder brother. So Bofur and I are technically first cousins."

Bilbo took a moment to absorb that before he came to horrifying realization. "Wait, then what happened to your real father?"

"Baraldur _was_ my real father," Bombur said firmly, giving him a scolding look that made him flush in shame and guilt. "Just because I didn't come from his loins didn't make me any less his son than Bofur. As for Balvari, he wasn't cut out to be a father. That's why he left me with Baraldur."

"So... he _abandoned_ you?" the healer asked, trying to understand the logic of such a decision.

"Well, I wouldn't put it _quite_ like that," the Dwarf replied slowly, folding his hands behind his head to rest against. "He did visit me whenever he was in the city, and always gave my father coin when he could. I know he's kept track of me from afar over the years, and even now I still get the occasional letter from him. So he never quite cut himself off from me which is why I wouldn't say he abandoned me."

"I don't understand. Why did he give you to his brother to raise if he wanted nothing to do with being a parent, and yet still stuck around? If he wanted to know you then why not just raise you as his son as he was supposed to do?" Bilbo demanded, growing angrier and angrier as he thought over Bombur's story.

The redhead shook his head in disagreement. "Bilbo, it's not that simple," he explained gently, brown eyes dark and kind. "Ya can have a child and love them with everything in ya but that doesn't make ya a good parent. Balvari loves me and I have never once doubted it—_but_ he is also a selfish Dwarrow who is dedicated to his craft. His love for his work is consuming and he understood that such a Dwarrow could never provide the care and attention a child needs, and that's why he sought out someone who could. Balvari did the best he could for me and I'm forever grateful to him for that because Baraldur—my _real _father—was the best parent I could ever ask for."

Bombur paused for a moment before giving him a knowing look. "You have a hard time understanding this. Is it because Hobbits don't raise another's child?" he asked without any judgment or condescension.

Bilbo thought about the question and shook his head. "No... well, yes, I suppose we do, but it's different," he said slowly, struggling to put to words what was simply expected of him. "If you father a child, then you're expected to acknowledge them and raise them. Children who are not acknowledged by their father are raised by their mother and her clan. It's... you don't get to pick and choose to be in a child's life. You either are or are not."

"A very solid rule to live by," Bombur acknowledged with a nod. "But, as I said, not everyone is suited to be a parent. Balvari understood that, and I'm happy that he was smart enough to know he would've made a shitty father."

"So if you're adopted, are you and Bifur still related?"

"We're still first cousins," confirmed the Dwarf with a smile. "His father was Balvari's younger brother too. There were three of them in all—Balvari, Barinur, and Baraldur. Barinur was Bifur's father. Ah, look, we're here."

Bilbo looked to where Bombur pointed to, and blinked a few times at what he saw. "It's a market," he remarked after taking a moment of absorbing the scene in front of him.

"That's what we told you," Bombur reminded slowly.

"I know, but when Bifur said black market, I was expecting something... darker?" he explained, gesturing to the neat little stalls all lined up in rows that extended as far as the eye could see. "More sinister Dwarves selling body parts and illegal weapons and less... teal colored fabric and knockoff silver earrings."

Bombur just looked at him as if he had confessed that his mother was a swamp witch. "I think it's time that we sit down and rethink your reading choices."

Bilbo stuck out his tongue in disagreement. "Touch my books and I'm telling Dori you took me here."

"That threat would be more effective if I was actually _afraid_ of Dori," retorted Bombur, winking. "Come along now. I believe the person we need to see should have a booth somewhere in the center."

The Dwarf they were looking for was, in fact, situated in the center of the line of stalls with his own table set out with an assortment of items on display. Bilbo looked over the table and marveled at the amount of rings, beads, baskets, and other knickknacks that, while pretty, served no real purpose to him. The Dwarf sitting behind the stand—an older sort with gray streaked brown hair and a square jaw—gave them a nod in greeting but didn't seem too interested in anything outside the book he was reading.

"What are we looking for?" the Hobbit asked his companion, glancing at him from the corner of his eye.

"A scroll," replied the Dwarf, skimming through the pile before nimbly picking out one with a red ribbon tied around it and a copper charm shaped like a coin. "We would like to purchase this please."

The vendor looked up from his book, glanced at the scroll and Bombur, and then looked back to his book. "It will be one fifty," he said in a bored tone.

"I'll give ya fifty for it," Bombur shot back without hesitation.

"One twenty-five," retorted the vendor without pause.

"Ninety. The charm isn't even real copper," returned Bombur, smacking the scroll against the palm of his hand.

The merchant made a face but nodded in grudging agreement. He held out a hand for his money that Bombur cheerfully forked over while ignoring Bilbo as he scrambled for his money pouch. "Don't bother. It's on me today. Payment for what happened in the Lead District," the large Dwarf said before Bilbo could speak up.

The Hobbit wilted. "Fine. But I'm helping you prepare dinner tonight."

"Deal. Thanks for your business," Bombur said to the vendor, giving him a small nod that earned him a lazy wave goodbye. He then turned and walked off with Bilbo trailing after him. It wasn't until they were a good deal away from the merchant that Bilbo turned to his friend with a question.

"What was that?" he asked, pointing over his shoulder at the stall they left behind.

"Haggling. I think I got a good price for this," Bombur replied airily.

Bilbo rolled his eyes. "I meant the scroll. Why did we buy it? I thought we came for information?"

"The scroll _is_ the information," corrected the Dwarf, bopping Bilbo on the nose gently as if he were an unruly kitten. "That merchant was Liti who, in order to avoid detection from the guards, puts out that stall pretending to sell various bits of merchandise. What they don't know is that each piece represents a different avenue of information that he can provide for a price."

"So what does the scroll represent?" wondered the healer.

"Scrolls are requests for informants or burglars," explained Bombur, holding up the scroll to show his shorter companion. "See the red tie shows that I need one who deals with important nobles, the charm shows me where to find them, and the poem inside tells me who to look for."

Bilbo whistled, honestly impressed. "Wow. That's really clever. So do you know what this charm represents?"

Bombur grinned with his dimples exposed and shook the small charm lightly, making it jingle against the scroll. "Yup. This is a token from the biggest gambling den in the kingdom—the Night Jade."

* * *

"The Night Jade?" Bifur repeated later that night, making a face of disgust. "Ugh, I hate that place. They sell the worse spirits and their cut in your winnings is fucking highway robbery."

"No choice, luv. Liti says that we'll find our guy there," pointed out Bjarte as he read through the scroll. "Hmp. Not much of a description. Do ya have any idea who this might be, Nori?"

"Nope. Night Jade is a bit too expensive for my taste so I usually avoid it," replied the thief, stretched out on the loveseat with his arms hanging over the back. "My mother spent a lot of time there though so Dori might know something."

"I don't want Dori to know just yet. It will just worry him," protested Bilbo, sitting on the armrest of the loveseat.

Nori shrugged, uncaring. "Then we won't tell him. But that means we gotta look for the fucker on our own."

"It says ya can find him at the _zunsh_ table wearing a cap of gold," recited Bofur, reading the scroll over Bjarte's shoulder with one brow raised high. "A cap of gold. How tacky."

"If he's going to the Night Jade, he ain't gonna have good taste," muttered Bifur.

"Where is this Night Jade anyway?" Bilbo wondered, meeting Bombur's gaze across the room to where he stood in the kitchen slicing up a leg of lamb.

"The Garnet District. It's right above us," said the Dwarf, pointing up with his knife. "We can go after I finish dinner. Bofur and Bifur, please stay here and keep Hamide company. Ya know how she get's when she's left alone."

"What?! Why do I have to stay? She's _your_ wife!" protested Bifur, looking up from where he was unlacing his mining leathers.

"Bombur, I ain't stayin' behind to babysit," added Bofur, shaking his head. "They might need help in there. I'm going."

Bombur simply _looked_ at his older brother and cousin without any expression until they both began to twitch before finally looking away. Bifur muttered something under his breath as he finished undoing his leathers while Bofur adjusted his hat, and avoided meeting everyone's eyes. Bilbo looked to Nori in question, and received only a shrug in response.

"What was that?" he asked Bjarte, who was rolling his eyes and rolling up the scroll.

"Don't worry about it, Bilbo," Bombur answered instead, smiling at him sweetly as he slammed his knife straight through the meat and nearly through the cutting board. "Ya don't need to know."

The Night Jade was housed in a nondescript building guarded by two burly Dwarves who, after a word from Bjarte, allowed them entrance to a flight of stairs. At the bottom of the stairs was another set that eventually led to an underground chamber that extended out into different halls. The chamber itself was dimly lit and made out of dark jade and crowded with Dwarves of all types. Some were clustered around tables with dice and cards while others were betting on different animals racing against each other. Some were even playing archery and darts and so many other different games that Bilbo just couldn't keep track of them all.

"Wow. This is... really impressive," he commented, standing still for a moment just to take everything in.

Nori interrupted his study by snagging his elbow and dragging him off. "Yes, yes, it's all very pretty. Try to keep up now or you'll get lost in the crowds again."

"That only happened _once_ and it was during sales time at the market. Getting lost is only natural," protested Bilbo, still dutifully following after his captor.

"I think I found our guy," commented Bjarte from the front where he led their little group through the crowds.

"Where?" asked Bombur, standing on his toes and trying to see over his cousin's shoulder.

"There. The one with the blond hair." Bjarte leaned to the side and pointed to a neatly dressed fellow with bright yellow hair. He sat at a stone table with two other Dwarves; smirking as he slammed down a tile in the center of the stable.

"Huh. Guess they meant 'cap of gold' a bit literally," muttered Nori.

"So... should we just go up to him and ask him for the information?" Bilbo asked, glancing to the thief before looking back to the stranger. "Or is there some sort of secret code we need to go through?"

"We show him the scroll and he should get it from there," Bjarte answered, shrugging. "C'mon. We'll wait for the game to finish and then talk to him."

The game didn't end for another twenty minutes and by then it was obvious that the blond Dwarf had won the game. He grinned as he collected his winnings while the other two Dwarves got up and wandered off with sour expressions on their faces. Immediately Bjarte stepped forward and took a seat at the table before anyone else could; dropping the scroll on the table and directly on the pile of silver and copper coins as he did. The stranger paused in his task and stared at the scroll for a moment before his eyes flickered up to meet Bjarte's without any emotion.

"Name of the target," he said simply, his voice deep and smooth like honey as he flicked the scroll off his winnings and continued to push them into his coin pouch.

"Motvari. Anything ya got," answered Bjarte, drumming his fingers against the table.

To his credit, the Dwarf only paused for a moment before he continued his gathering. "I got a tip on the guard patrol for this week," he said, lowering his voice a bit. "Motvari's compound. Interested?"

"That depends. How much is it gonna cost?" Bombur asked, leaning against the table at Bjarte's side while Nori stood on the other side with Bilbo.

The blond's eyes flickered over Bombur before shooting over to Bilbo and lingering on Nori for a fraction of a second longer before finally returning to Bjarte. "Two thousand."

Bilbo nearly had a heart attack. "_T-Two thousand_?" he gasped, grasping the edge of the table to hold himself up. "What makes you think any of us have that much money?!"

The blond shrugged, unconcerned. "That's my price. Take it or leave it."

"There has to be another way. We're not the first poor folk who have come to you for information," Bjarte pointed out, crossing his arms over his broad chest.

The Dwarf titled his head forward in acknowledgment. "True enough. All right, I'll offer you a deal then. Play a round with me here tonight. You win you get the information you want. But if _I_ win..." The Dwarf trailed off and leveled his brown eyes on Nori with a rakish grin. "_He_ has to come home with me tonight."

"What?!" Bilbo squawked, grabbing the attention from nearby players. "Are you crazy?! We're not betting on my friend—!"

"It's fine, Bilbo," interrupted Nori, looking unfazed by the request. If anything he looked more bored than offended by the offer. "We'll do it. I know we'll win."

"Not the point, Nori!" Bilbo snapped, looking up at the thief with a scowl. "You're my friend, not some cheap trinket to haggle over! It's offensive that he even _thought _that we would use you like that! People are not things, bastard! You don't just toss them away like your little coins here!"

The Dwarf raised an eyebrow at Bilbo's words while Nori, Bombur, and Bjarte all turned to stare at the Hobbit with mixed reactions. Bilbo stared straight back; unashamed of his words or the attention he was getting for them. He knew he was being rude and foolish by insulting their only source of information, but he didn't care. He was not going to stand by and allow a stranger to _barter_ over a _person_. It just wasn't right!

"Bilbo..." Nori began to say only to trail off. He looked pained and annoyed as if realizing something about himself that he wasn't too happy with.

"Bilbo, there isn't any other choice here," Bombur said gently though he too looked angry by the words he was forced to say. "Unless ya have the money, he's not going to take any other gamble. Folk like him never do."

Bilbo scowled even deeper and turned back to the Dwarf watching them from across the table. "Fine. Since I have no choice, I will play you and beat you at your own game!" he declared, hooking his foot around the leg of a nearby chair to pull it out and flop into it. "Sit down and get ready to have your ass beaten! I'm going to destroy you for this! Making me use my friend like this... I will _not_ forget this!"

The informant blinked a few times as he stared at the fuming healer. "Huh. Maybe I should take _you_ home instead..."

"Try it. I'll be happy to show you why that's a _worse_ idea," advised Nori, grinning with all his teeth exposed.

"Do you even know how to play?" wondered Bjarte with both brows raised high.

Bilbo shrugged, unconcerned. "It can't be that hard to learn."

Bjarte exchanged a look of alarm with Bombur while Nori groaned and smacked a hand against his forehead. "We're doomed."

* * *

So zunsh is based on mahjong, which I think suits Dwarves because it requires tactics, observation, memory skills, and teamwork—important traits for young warriors to develop. Zunsh means 'bird' in Khuzdûl because I couldn't find the word for sparrow, which is what mahjong translates into.

**Silver pup**


	24. Act II: The Rogue - Chapter Ten

Disclaimer: I do not own any familiar characters/settings/plot featured in this story. They all belong to (most likely rolling in his grave) **J.R.R. Tolkien**.

* * *

**A**ct **II**: **T**he **R**ogue

**C**hapter **T**en

* * *

"The goal of the game is to make a complete Hand of fourteen tiles—also known as _zunsh_," explained the Dwarf—named Ingi as he had introduced himself—after he had finished explaining the rules, different tiles, and basic sequence of the game. He had showed Bilbo how to line up his tiles and they were both ready to start at last.

"How many rounds are we playing?" Bilbo asked, rubbing his finger along the edge of a tile.

"We'll go three rounds. Make it easy on you," replied Ingi, flashing a smirk at the Hobbit. "Aren't I nice?"

Bilbo sneered. "It'd be nicer if I could wipe that smirk off your face."

"Bilbo," Bombur chided quietly from his side. "Ya need to calm down and focus now if ya want to win the game."

Bilbo scowled but nodded in agreement. "Right. Sorry. Let's play."

The first round was a silent affair that was only broken by the sound of the tiles hitting the table. At his side, both Nori and Bombur watched with unwavering focus as the game progressed slowly. Bjarte watched too but his main focus seemed to be on the people around them as they went about. After around fifteen minutes the round came to an end in Ingi's favor.

"Looks like the first win is mine," Ingi said, shooting a leer at Nori who looked unimpressed.

Bilbo had to curb the urge to throw a tile at his face. "Hmp. Still two more to go. Let's play."

The second round went by quicker and ended with Bilbo winning much to the surprise of everyone.

"_Zunsh_!" Bilbo cheered, turning his line of tiles around to show everyone. "This means I win this round, right?"

"Um, yeah, actually it does," said Bombur, sharing a look of surprise with Nori. "Wow."

"Way to sound supportive," muttered Bjarte, rolling his green eyes. Somewhere between the first and second round he had acquired a silver mug and was drinking the wine like it was water. Leaning his back against the table and watching the patrons around them, Bjarte seemed to be the only one unconcerned with the game.

Ingi scowled, and began to rearrange the tiles for a new set. "Alright final round now. Whoever wins this wins the game."

"Yeah, I picked up on that when you said _final_ round," Bilbo drawled, rearranging his tiles as well.

Nori groaned and buried his face in his hands. "I'm _fucked_. Literally."

"Shut up I'm defending your virtue."

"Ya can't defend something that doesn't exist," pointed out Bombur, smiling innocently when Nori looked up and flashed him a glare.

"Excuse me but can we continue the game here?" interrupted Ingi, tapping his nails against the table. "I do have other matches to see to after this."

"Rude," Bilbo muttered even as he drew a tile and started the game.

The third round lasted the longest at twenty minutes with each player silently picking up and disregarding tiles. Bilbo watched his opponent under his lashes as the Dwarf grinned and collected his points with each tile. It was amusing, during the first round, to watch the gambler smirk at him and leer at Nori as the game went on; confident in his skills and expecting an easy win. But Bilbo was growing bored and tired, and decided that it was time to wrap things up for good.

"Dragon," he declared calmly, turning his line of tiles around to show them all neatly arranged in matching sets. "Iwin."

Bombur gasped while Nori's head snapped up from where he had it buried in his folded arms. "What?!"

Ingi dropped the tile he was holding. "What? But, how—?"

"Idiots. He knew how to play from the start," remarked Bjarte as he examined his hair for split ends. He was the only one who didn't seem surprised by the sudden win.

Nori jerked around to stare at the Hobbit with wide eyes that made him look decades younger. "Is that true? You knew how to play this whole time?!"

Bilbo gave him the patronizing look that he had perfected after living with Elves for so many years. "Of course. Do you think I would risk so much in a game that I didn't think I could win? Please."

Nori kept staring. "But where did you...?"

"Ered Luin. Ya learned when you were living with the Dwarrows in Ered Luin," Bombur connected, leaning back into his seat and smacking his palm against his forehead. "Of course. It all makes sense now. Ered Luin is where _zunsh_ started from. We play it all the time. I can't believe I didn't think of that."

"Correct. The Dwarves in the Blue Mountains taught me and didn't let up until I was able to beat them," the Hobbit confirmed with a nod as he turned back to face the still flabbergasted Ingi. "And no offense, but they're much harder to beat than you. I had six chances to win the first round and eight for the second! I kept giving you so many chances and you just wouldn't take them!"

Ingi bristled at that. Slamming his hands on the table, he pushed himself to his feet and tried to tower over the Hobbit. But considering he was the same height as Ori and was a whole table away, Bilbo wasn't feeling very intimidated. "You said you didn't know how to play!" he accused, pointing at the healer.

Bilbo clucked his tongue and shook his head. "Wrong. I said it didn't sound hard to learn. Never once did I say _I_ needed to learn it."

"So you hustled me," Ingi translated.

"Yu_p_," he said, popping the last letter. "I thought it was only fair since you gambled on my _friend's body_. Just be thankful I didn't try to take your money too."

Ingi stared at him hard for another long moment before finally dropping back into his seat with a soft huff. "Heh. Alright, fine. I lost fair and square. I'll give you the information on the rotations," he said, reaching down under the table for a leather sack.

Bilbo smiled as his shoulders finally relaxed for the first time that night. "Thank you, Ingi. I do appreciate this."

Ingi shrugged as he dug through his bag before pulling out a leather envelop. "I don't want to know why you want something like this," he said, sliding the envelop across the table to Bilbo, "but you're free to take it. Just don't mention where you got it from."

"I'll keep your name out of things," he promised, handing the envelop over to Bombur, who quickly opened it to check it over.

"Good. And hey, come back again for another round. I got some guys here who might be worth playing," advised Ingi, smirking as he leaned back into his seat. He shot another leer at Nori and added, "You can come too, lovely. Don't think I've given up on conning you into my bed."

"And on that note, it's time to leave," declared Nori, rising to his feet while casting a glare at Ingi.

The others quickly followed and began to head towards the exit. Bilbo lingered behind with Nori for a moment to give his opponent a small bow. "Thank you for the game. It was a nice change of pace," he said, flashing a grin that earned him a chuckle. "Goodbye, Ingi."

"Bye-bye, little one," the blond cooed, waving. "Until next time."

"Next time, we take all his money," muttered Nori, and Bilbo snorted with restrained laughter.

* * *

"You shouldn't have done that," Nori mentioned later that night as they were walking back to the Tin District together.

Bilbo glanced at his friend from the corner of his eye before looking back to the road. "Done what?"

"Interfere," clarified the Dwarf, shoving his hands into his pockets. "I don't mind being the wager if it means getting us the information we need."

"And you don't find anything wrong with that logic?" he asked sharply, unable to stop himself.

"Doesn't matter because it's _my_ body and _my_ choice," the thief shot back, his eyes narrowed into green slits. "You don't speak for me, Bilbo. Don't do that again."

Bilbo opened his mouth to retort and realized he didn't have one. "I... You're right," he admitted, thinking over the incident in his mind and coming to the same conclusion as Nori. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have dismissed your choice like that. It wasn't my place to do so."

"Good," Nori said, nodding stiffly. "I mean, it's not like I didn't like what you did because I did. Like you standing up for me, I mean. I don't... Not many people outside of my brothers would have done that."

"We need to get you some new friends," the Hobbit decided, shaking his head. "That's not right."

"It's not a friend thing it's a..." Nori trailed off before finally stopping and turning to face Bilbo. He paused too and looked up at the suddenly twitchy Dwarf. His mouth was twisted down and his eyes had turned into the swampy green that only showed up whenever Nori was emotional. Bilbo felt alarms begin to go off in his head.

"There's a reason for what happened tonight," the thief began to explain slowly. "Why that fucker was so quick to offer for me. See my ma, she... the reason she had three sons from three different Dwarrows was because she was a... _nabgûna_."

Bilbo raised his brows. "What's that?"

"A fancy name for a high priced whore," Nori said flatly.

Well. He wasn't expecting _that_. "Oh. I didn't know that was allowed here."

"It's allowed," the Dwarf admitted grudgingly as if it personally offended him to acknowledge such a practice. "It's... a very pricy job and very few are selected to become one so that's why you don't hear much about them."

"I saw some ladies who do... similar work in the Lead District," he commented delicately. "Are they not the same as the nabnaga?"

"_Nabgûna_," Nori corrected, shaking his head. "And no, they're not the same. Those ones are common and illegal and will sleep with anyone for the right price. A _nabgûna_ is expected to do more. They sing, dance, tell stories, fight, and drink with patrons. They are able to choose who they want to fuck and the price the patron has to pay. They can mingle among the upper classes and sleep with whoever they choose, and no one can say a thing because it's all legal."

"I see. And why does your mother's job matter _now_?"

"Because when she was still alive, my ma was the most famous _nabgûna_ in the whole kingdom. Dwarrows would promise her their entire fortunes just for one look from her. She could have had the very _king_ himself if she had desired it. Not that she did because that meant going against the Royal Consort, but it was still there. _That's_ how beautiful she was," Nori explained, shoulders tightening up with each word. "And _I_ look like her the most."

Bilbo felt his eyes widen. "Oh. Then...?"

Nori nodded, answering Bilbo's incomplete sentence. "Most Dwarrows look at my brothers and me and expect the same charms that my mother gave out," he said, staring over Bilbo's head at something in the distance. "They only see _her_ face and _her_ reputation when they look at me. So I'm used to folk expecting me to be just as open about screwing as she was. That's why I..."

_Wasn't surprised by Ingi's offer_, Bilbo finished in his head, closing his eyes and thinking. He knew, somewhere in the back of his mind, that the 'Ri brothers were considered very attractive by Dwarf standards. But he never actually thought about what that would mean for _them_. He couldn't imagine how it must've been like to grow up under the legacy of another. To be constantly viewed for only his appearance and valued only for a skill that wasn't even his to claim. Suddenly all of Dori's over protective tendencies made sickening sense.

"Nori," he finally said after he got his thoughts together, "I don't think you're beautiful."

"What?"

"I mean, you're handsome enough for a Dwarf, of course," he quickly reassured, trying not to smile at the offended tone the thief had adopted, "but I could never offer up everything I own just for a chance to sleep with you."

"Is this supposed to make me feel better? Because it's really not working," Nori said dryly.

"However, I would offer up my life to keep you safe," he added, opening his eyes in time to see Nori's mouth close with a click. Looking up at the thief, he met his startled green eyes, and said slowly, "I like you, Nori. But not for your looks or your mother's past. I like you for your stupid humor and snide comments and childish antics. I like how loyal you are to your brothers, and how you like to pretend to be an asshole when you're really very kind inside. I like that you can make me smile and laugh after a hard day at work and that you always know how to cheer me up when I'm down. You make me feel safe and comfortable and happy, and none of that comes from your looks. So... just keep that in mind the next time someone tries something, okay? Because there's so much more to you than just your appearance."

Nori just kept staring. Bilbo watched as he opened his mouth a few times before closing it slowly; obviously unable to find the words to express his emotions. But Bilbo didn't mind. He had gotten used to the thief and his allergic reaction to anything that dealt with emotions. That was why, instead of waiting for Nori to find the words that he probably didn't even know, he simply smiled and tilted his head to the side.

"Let's get going. I'm sure Dori is waiting for us," he said, turning on his heel and ambling off down the road. A few seconds later Nori caught up to him; silently walking at his side as before.

"Bilbo?" he finally said a few minutes later when they finally entered the Tin District.

Bilbo glanced at him at the corner of his eye but didn't turn his head. "Hmm?"

"When you leave to take on Smaug in the spring," Nori said slowly, voice low and his eyes fixed on something in the distance, "I'm coming with you."

"Okay," he said easily, and smiled down at his feet as they walked on side by side.

* * *

"I can't believe ya'll talked me into this," Bifur grumbled two nights later as they all crouched behind the giant stone wall that surrounded Lord Motvari's personal estate.

"Just shut up and keep watch," ordered Nori as he helped Bofur change into the guard uniform they had hijacked. The uniform's original owner was, unfortunately, unconscious and tied up with his partner in a blind spot between the wall and a neighboring building.

"I _am_ keepin' watch. I'm watchin' ya fools make bad life choices," sneered Bifur as he adjusted his own stolen uniform.

Bjarte looked up from his own diligent watch of the area to give his husband a look of disbelief. "Do ya really wanna play that game, _Shadow_ Lad?"

Bifur's scowl simply deepened. "If we survive this, I'm gettin' a divorce."

"I still think I should be going in instead of ya," Bofur whispered to Bilbo, ignoring his feuding cousins. "That leg of your still isn't healed."

"I'm smaller and quieter than you, Bofur," the healer reminded patiently, trying not to roll his eyes. "And my thigh is fine so stop bringing it up. Now are we ready?"

"As ready as we'll ever be," Nori said, adjusting his gloves.

Bifur groaned but pulled on his helmet along with Bofur. "Let's get this over with then."

Their plan to infiltrate Lord Motvari's home was a rather simple one as far as burglaries went. Thanks to the information from Ingi, they had been able to ambush a pair of guards and steal their armor and take on their patrol route. Bifur and Bofur—being the tallest and therefore the only ones who could fit into the armor—had been given the duty of acting as the guards. They were to follow the route that led them past the upper levels of the estate where they would unlock the windows of Lord Motvari's office; allowing Nori and Bilbo a chance to climb the wall and slip into the mansion. From there they would search for the information needed before slipping out without anyone any wiser. Meanwhile Bifur and Bofur would continue their patrol until they finally had a free chance to slip away once they were far enough from the sight of the other real guards.

Bilbo knew that it would have been wiser to wait and spend more time in developing their plan to infiltrate Lord Motvari's estate. However the information of the guards' routes was only good for that week alone, and would be changing the following week. It didn't hurt either that Lord Motvari was gone that night; visiting another noble for dinner at their own estate. With such great odds in their favor, it would have been a waste to pass it up.

_I just hope we won't get caught_, he mused, watching Bofur and Bifur disappear around a corner as they started their patrol. They waited a few minutes before Nori finally stirred and turned to face Bilbo and Bjarte.

"Time to go," he said, kneeling down to cup his hand for Bilbo to step on.

"Be careful," said Bjarte, who was staying outside to stand watch for anything suspicious or to interfere if something went wrong.

Bilbo nodded as he stepped up and was boosted up the wall. He pulled himself up and quickly slid down to the other side before anyone could spot him. Kneeling down, he waited for Nori to appear before they moved onto the window of the office. It took a few minutes but eventually the window was opened and they climbed the wall of the estate using the marble decorations embedded in the stone. Once up, they found an empty office that was nearly pitch black. The only bit of light came from a lantern that Bofur had left behind.

"Let's get to it," he whispered to Nori, moving towards the nearest set of drawers to dig through.

"What are we looking for?" wondered the thief, moving to the large desk in the center of the room.

"Documents, illegal goods, severed limbs of his enemies—anything for Prince Kíli to build a case against him," he answered, closing the drawer and moving onto the second one only to find it filled with useless knickknacks.

Nori groaned. "This is gonna take awhile."

Bilbo didn't know how long they were looking when Nori finally let out a soft cheer that caught his attention. "I found it," the thief said, holding up a leather bound book from a compartment hidden behind a painting.

"You did?" he said, dropping the useless forms he had been scanning.

"Yeah. Look—it's a ledger of all his businesses," the Dwarf said, opening the book to show that it was filled with Khuzdûl and numbers. "This fucker has been ripping off nearly _everyone_ he's done business with. I bet the King himself is in this."

"Then this is it. This is the proof we need! Let's—"

The sound of yelling interrupted them mid-sentence. Both occupants froze before rushing for the nearby window where Nori shoved the book into Bilbo's startled arms.

"They found Bofur and the rest," he hissed, visibly straining to hear the muffled Khuzdûl behind the thick door. "You need to take the book and run. Go to the guards or—no, go to Óin! He'll help you."

"I'm not leaving you and the others here!" Bilbo hissed back, clutching the heavy book to his chest.

"No time to argue. Go!" Nori ordered, and then pushed him out of the window.

Bilbo didn't have time to scream as he plunged to the hard ground. He hit with a roll and ended up smacking his head against the stone and nearly biting through his tongue. Groaning as his vision spun, he pushed himself to his feet and tried to ignore the pain and nausea that followed with his body standing up straight. Tucking the ledger into his coat, he looked up for his friend and found the window closed and Nori gone. With a muffled curse, he turned back to look around the estate, and once he was sure no one was around, took off in a sprint for the far wall.

_I'm going to throw up_, he thought as his stomach turned upside down and threatened to betray him. He did his best to ignore it along with the pain as he began to climb up the stone wall. It was a slow ordeal as his vision still spun and he ended up losing his grip a few times; scraping his hands and knees raw and bloody and nearly falling off the wall. But eventually he made it to the top and quickly hopped down before he could lose his grip and fall.

Bjarte was gone, of course, probably having entered the estate when he heard the yelling in an attempt to help. Though it went against every bone in his body to abandon his friends, Bilbo turned away and began to run down the smooth marble road of the Sapphire District. He couldn't afford to get caught now; not when he had so much at stake in getting the ledger to Prince Kíli.

_Find help first and then go back for the others_, he planned in his head, trying not to stumble on the glossy floor. His head still hurt and there was blood descending down the side of his face like a waterfall; getting in his right eye and staining his only coat. He didn't know how badly he had injured his head in the fall, but considering the ringing pain and oozing blood, he was betting it was pretty bad.

Bilbo was nearly out of the Sapphire District and heading into the Emerald District when he spotted, from the corner of his eye, a familiar figure stepping out of a large onyx building. He stopped and turned to stare to be sure that he wasn't imagining things. But no, it was indeed Thorin walking down the stairs with two Royal Guards trailing him. Without thinking, Bilbo ran over to the guard who had helped him so many times in the past.

"Thorin!" he called as he grew closer and closer. At the sound of his name, Thorin looked up, saw Bilbo, and went stark white. Bilbo paid it no mind as he attempted to reach out for the Dwarf. "Thorin, I need your help—"

He was interrupted by one of the Royal Guards, who stepped forward and pushed him back so hard that Bilbo fell to the ground. "How dare you address His Majesty so casually?!" the guard growled, stepping in front of Thorin with a hand resting on the hilt of his sword. "Bow down before the King Under the Mountain before you lose your life!"

"Majesty...?" Bilbo repeated blankly, blinking a few times. Staring up at Thorin, he finally began to take notice of the fine blue robes and exquisite jewelry decorating the Dwarf. But it wasn't until his eyes landed on Thorin's pale and guilty face that it all finally clicked in his head.

_Oh. He's the king. Thorin is the King of Erebor. Of course._

"Master Baggins, you're bleeding!" a familiar voice suddenly cried out, and that was when Bilbo noticed Prince Kíli standing behind Thorin with his brother, Prince Fíli. When their eyes met, the youngest prince pushed past his brother and guards and rushed to Bilbo's side on the ground. "What happened to you? Who did this?"

"Prince Kíli, I found your proof of Lord Motvari's guilt," the Hobbit said, ignoring the inquiry and pulling out the ledger from beneath his coat. He pushed it into Prince Kíli's hands and met the startled brown eyes without any fear of the looming guards standing behind the prince. "Now please, help me before he kills my friends! Please!"

Prince Kíli opened his mouth and closed it a few times before looking up at the still silent Thorin standing away from them. "Uncle..." he said softly, brown eyes narrowing. "Please."

Thorin blinked once then turned to the guard standing at his right. "Summon the Royal Guards," he ordered, voice lower and gruffer than normal. "Surround Lord Motvari's estate at once. Do not allow anyone to leave or enter."

The guard saluted, and began to bark orders to the others in Khuzdûl. As he did, Prince Kíli leaned down and helped Bilbo to his feet. "We should get this wound looked after," he said, grasping Bilbo's shoulder as he swayed on his feet.

"Mmm. Your Highness?" the Hobbit said softly, glancing up to the meet the prince's eyes.

"Yes?"

"Please take care of my friends. I'm gonna pass out now," he said, and then finally surrounded himself to the welcoming darkness as his head exploded in pain. The last thing he heard before the void took him were the dual shouts of his name echoing in his ears.

"Master Baggins!"

"Bilbo!"

* * *

Surprise update! I won't have access to a computer starting tomorrow so I figured I should post the chapter now. :)

So I was going to make the game like super long and complex and tense until I realized it was coming out more like a sports anime than anything. Since I ain't got that kinda time to waste, I axed that idea and went with this version instead. I like it better since it's moving the story along and we really need to get to the second main plot for this arc before I lose all this glorious free time I have.

We also finally know now why Dori is so protective of his brothers! And look, the second member of the Company has joined up. We're making progress my dears. And hey, look, Bilbo also finally knows who Thorin really is. Isn't that nice? Maybe now he'll get his name right. Maybe. Not making any promises though.

**Silver pup**


	25. Act II: The Rogue - Chapter Eleven

Disclaimer: I do not own any familiar characters/settings/plot featured in this story. They all belong to (most likely rolling in his grave) **J.R.R. Tolkien**.

* * *

**A**ct **II**: **T**he **R**ogue

**C**hapter **E**leven

* * *

Bilbo awoke to find Óin at his bedside again.

"Oww," he said in greeting, blinking through his blurry vision until he could see his boss properly. "I'm alive."

Óin didn't look impressed with his declaration. "Amazingly, though Mahâl knows you've been pushing it. At least I know I didn't waste all that time stitching up your head," he said, reaching over to hand him a drink of water from the bedside table.

"My friends?" he croaked, sitting up and taking the water gratefully.

"Safe and unharmed," reassured the healer, making Bilbo relax as he downed the cup of liquid. "We sent them home not too long ago under the protection of the Royal Guards. Thorin promised that no harm will come to them."

Bilbo closed his eyes with a soft groan at _that_ reminder. "Thorin is the king," he stated, wrapping his hands around the silver chalice tightly. The thought of it all—Thorin as the _King_ of _Erebor_—made his mind boggle. How could Thorin—the high strung guard with the pointy nose who was as dense as stone about the real world—be the wise and fair ruler he kept hearing about? How could Thorin—the guard who followed him around and made stupid but funny remarks—be the most important person in all of Erebor?

_Thorin is the_ _**King**..._

"He is. Thorin II Oakenshield, King Under the Mountain," said Óin, announcing the name as if he had never heard of anything so ridiculous in his entire life. "Son of Thráin II, the Crown Prince of Erebor, who was the son of Thrór, King of Durin's Folk."

Bilbo flinched, and tightened his grip as his hands began to tremble. "He _lied_ to me."

"He did," confirmed Óin, not even bothering to try to soften the blow.

"_Why?_"

"Because he's an idiot?" offered Óin, and he could just picture the old healer shrugging. "I don't know, Rabbit. You'll have to ask him yourself."

"I don't want to see him," he said childishly, opening his eyes to look at Óin. "If I see him again I'm going to end up punching his pretty face in and getting sent to prison."

Óin snorted. "He let you get away with using him as a _step stool_. I think you'll be fine with the punch."

Bilbo groaned again at that unsubtle reminder. Oh Eru, he had used the _King of Erebor_ as a _ladder_. Forget going to prison, he was going to be _executed_. "Did everyone else know this whole time?" he wondered, staring up at the gleaming beige ceiling above him. "Was it just a giant joke amongst you all to mock me about my ignorance?"

"No," Óin barked fiercely, making him jump in surprise. "That's _not_ what happened. I thought that Thorin had told you the truth after I confronted him that day I brought you to meet with Dís and Vílin. The fool told no one that he had continued to lie about his identity."

Hearing that, Bilbo felt a lot better even if he had no real reason to be. "So he lied to you all too? Why? I don't understand."

"I don't think anyone understands how that fool thinks," said the older healer, rolling his eyes. "For now ignore him. You have bigger concerns—namely your little escapade into Motvari's estate."

The Hobbit sunk down into his bed. "Oh. Am I in a lot of trouble?" he asked meekly.

"Hard to say at this point. On one hand you broke into the private residence of a very highly known noble and stole important documents from him," Óin listed, holding up his hands as if they were scales. "But on the other hand, your illegal actions brought _Motvari's_ illegal actions to light, and they are much worse than your little breaking and entering. So as you can see we have quite a dilemma here."

"What about my friends? Are they in trouble?" he pushed, recalling their involvement.

"They were arrested for trespassing but nothing else. Nothing was found on them, and though they knocked those guards out, they didn't kill them. So they were arrested and had to pay a fine that I believe Lord Fundin took care of," the healer said, frowning at the last part.

Bilbo raised his brows. There was a name he wasn't expecting to hear. "Really? Lord Fundin did that?"

"Yes. It was quite a shock to most of us. He's even gone so far as to unsubtly state that your friends are now under _his_ protection, which is quite a feat to hold." Óin's frown deepened as he regarded Bilbo with his bright blue eyes. "You wouldn't happen to know _why_ he's done all of this? Do you, Rabbit?"

He reluctantly nodded. "I do, but I'm afraid it's not my place to say. Sorry."

"Figures." Óin snorted and leaned back into his overly padded brown and gold chair. "Well, either way, your friends are safe for now. No one would _dare_ go against Lord Fundin; not even Motvari when he had power. There's a reason he's survived this long, the old dog."

"That's good. So what will happen to me?"

"Worst case scenario? You are forced to serve a prison sentence before being exiled from the kingdom forever more," said Óin, lips turning down into a scowl that made his face look harsher in the light. "Best case is you pay a fine and face suspension from your job for a time."

Bilbo nodded slowly as he considered his options. Considering the last time he had gotten in trouble with the law nearly ended with him being sold to a brothel in Gondor, serving a prison sentence or losing his job wasn't altogether too bad. "All right. And what about Lord Motvari? What's being done about him?"

"The Office of Investigations has raided his home and businesses and have found evidence after evidence of his crimes. Most of his family and allies have been arrested along the Dwarrow himself, and all of his personal property has been seized by the Ministry of Stone. Proof of Lord Eikar's murder has been found in his possession, and now Eikar's family and allies are out for blood," the Dwarf listed, shaking his head in blatant disgust. "All in all I think it's safe to say that Motvari has been brought down for good."

"What will happen to him? Will he be sent to prison? Or executed?" wondered Bilbo.

"At the moment, he's most likely to go to prison," Óin said slowly, rubbing the bottom of his beard in thought. "But if proof is found connecting him to Kíli's poisoning—and considering how things are going now, I'd say it's very likely to happen— then there will be no stopping Thorin from executing him. Plotting against the Royal Family is treason and is only ever answered in blood."

Bilbo couldn't help but flinch. Though he knew Motvari had brought his fate upon himself with his unethical actions, he still couldn't help but feel bad that the Dwarf was facing a possible death sentence. Seeing people die never sat right with him no matter how many times he faced it in his life "What about his family? Will they be killed?" he asked quietly.

"His wife and youngest son will likely be spared, but his eldest son and Motvari's two brothers will probably end up in prison," Óin admitted reluctantly. "There's just too much evidence against them."

"How sad. A whole family ruined, and for what? Money? Power?" Bilbo shook his head. "How pointless."

"Mmm." Óin reached over and took the cup from Bilbo's hand to refill it. "You know, Kíli told us all that he recruited you to help him in his gardening project. But he says he didn't expect you to go quite so far for him." Óin handed the cup back to the Hobbit with a smirk. "I think you both impressed and scared him."

"I'm not surprised," he admitted, recalling how young Prince Kíli was. "So does this mean you all will help him now with his planting dream?"

"After seeing how serious he is about it? Of course. Fíli has already started recruiting farmers from Dale and Glóin is looking into funding. Even Dís has started ordering pots of soil to be brought over from Mirkwood."

Bilbo nodded and took a sip of his water. "That's good to hear. I know he wanted to do this all on his own, but this is really something that requires multiple people."

"I think he realized that. He grumbled about it at first, but after his father pointed out that he was still in charge of it all, he calmed down," revealed Óin, rolling his eyes.

Bilbo snickered. "By the way, where am I?" he asked, scanning the bare but still richly made room he was in. It was made out a strange beige stone with white streaks running through it and glimmering gold spots. It held only the large bed he was in, a bedside table, a desk, and the chair Óin sat in; all of which were made out of silver and the same brown and gold marble. The only highlight to the boring room was the small balcony across from him that was left open so he could see the neighboring buildings outside.

Óin sighed, and gave him a look that said he was seriously rethinking Bilbo's intelligence. "You're in _my_ home, lad. The guards brought you here after you passed out on Kíli. Where else would you have gone?"

He was thinking prison but knew better than to voice _that_ thought. "Oh. Will I be here long?"

"You will be here for however long it takes for your head wound to heal, brat," said the healer, narrowing his blue eyes.

"But I want to go back to Dori's house!" he whined, reaching out to tug on Óin's sleeve.

"Then you best get better so you can leave," retorted the Dwarf in a mockingly sweet voice.

Bilbo pouted and tried his best not to throw his water at the smirking Dwarf's face. It would be a waste of perfectly good water. "Ugh! Dori is probably so worried and angry right now," he grumbled. "I need to apologize to him as soon as possible."

"I'm sure Dori is just happy that you're safe," pointed out the holder healers.

He disagreed. "I recruited his brother into a conspiracy, got him to break into a noble's house, and then got him arrested," he listed with his free hand, giving Óin a look. "I think he's gonna be pretty angry."

"He works in the guilds. I'm sure he's seen worse," deadpanned Óin, rising to his feet. "Get some more rest for now. I'll come back to check up on you in a few hours."

Bilbo made a face at the orders, but still set down his cut of water, and sunk down into the plush bed beneath him. "Fine. But only because my head still hurts," he said just to keep face.

Óin just arched a brow that told him the old healer saw right through him. "Of course."

* * *

Bilbo spent the rest of the day and most of the next in bed being fussed over by Óin and his servants. Apparently he had been unconscious for half a day, and it wasn't until the following evening that Óin even consented to letting him leave. He wasn't allowed to return to work until the investigation with Lord Motvari was over though so he had no choice but to return to the 'Ri home. However, much to his surprise, he wasn't allowed to leave alone.

"Who—_Dwalin_? What are you doing here?" he asked, staring up at the familiar guard dressed in the blue and gold armor of the Royal Guard. For the first time he noticed that Dwalin's armor was more elaborately made than the normal uniforms, and that he hosted a series of Khuzdûl painted across the shoulder pads and down the lines of his arms to his wrists.

"He's here to escort you home," answered Óin before Dwalin could even open his mouth.

"Why? I know how to get back to the Tin District by myself," he defended, glancing at his boss before looking back at the guard standing straight and proud with his arms crossed behind him.

"I'm not here to keep you from getting lost," replied Dwalin, the corner of his lips twitching as if he was trying to resist the urge to laugh or smile. "I'm here to make sure nothing happens to you until Motvari is handled."

Bilbo wrinkled his nose. "Why would anyone come after me? Has word got out that I'm the one who blew the whistle on his schemes?"

"Not officially, but there were a good deal of Dwarrows around you when you delivered the ledger to Kíli that night. Enough to spread word of your actions through the kingdom," Óin admitted, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Which is why I will be watching over you until this whole shit storm passes," Dwalin added, grinning down at the Hobbit with all his teeth exposed.

Bilbo wasn't feeling very intimidated or impressed. "Fine. But try to behave yourself or Dori might end up breaking your face."

"It would probably be an improvement," commented Óin, smirking up at his cousin.

Dwalin narrowed his dark eyes. "Even missing half my face, I would still be better looking than you any day," he growled before looking back to Bilbo. "If you're ready, we should leave now. I would like to get a scope of the building and your companions."

Bilbo nodded and, after thanking Óin for all he had done, followed Dwalin out of the Emerald District. It was a silent journey between the two of them as they slowly walked down to the lower levels. Bilbo was still feeling a bit fatigued and too sore to bother making small talk and Dwalin seemed content with the silence for the most part. It wasn't until they were nearly to the 'Ri home that Dwalin even attempted to start a conversation.

"It was a very brave thing you did taking on Motvari," he said mildly, staring straight ahead.

Bilbo glanced up at the guard in surprise. "Really? You don't think it was foolish?"

"Of course I do. It was the stupidest fucking thing you could have done," Dwalin said bluntly, making the Hobbit turn red in shame and embarrassment. "However, just because it was dumb doesn't mean it wasn't brave. I was there when your friends told us the story. You wanted to stop Motvari because it wasn't right that he killed Eikar and was getting away with it. You wanted to do the right thing even though it could get you killed. Hence why I said it was brave."

"Oh. Then, thank you, I suppose," he said awkwardly, looking down at his bare feet as he trudged along. "I don't think what I did was very brave though. I mean, I got my friends in a lot of trouble that is probably going to follow them for a good while now. It wasn't very brave of me to drag them into my schemes."

"They had the option of saying no. You didn't force them to help you," pointed out Dwalin, calmly. "So stop with the guilty martyr act. I have no patience for such nonsense."

"My feelings are not nonsense," he grumbled, throwing a glare up at the guard from under his brows. "By the way, why were _you_ chosen to escort me home? Shouldn't such a task be left to one of your minions?"

Dwalin snorted. "I volunteered for the job," he answered, turning to give Bilbo a small smirk. "Plus, Thorin didn't want just anyone for the job. He wanted to be sure you would be safe from all harm. Hence why I came instead of one of my 'minions'."

Bilbo made a face at the Dwarf at the mention of Thorin. "Ugh. I still can't believe he lied to me about being the king. Who does something like that? Was he trying to trick me or something?"

Dwalin hummed and rubbed his jaw in thought. "From what he's told me, he originally did it because he didn't trust leaving Kíli's care in your hands," he said slowly, tilting his head to the side slightly. "You were a stranger at the time, and Thorin is, as you know, very protective of his family and the princes in particular. Hence why he decided to follow you around that day in the palace."

"And after? Why didn't he tell me the truth when he saw me again?" Bilbo pushed, refusing to allow himself to be swayed by Dwalin's logical answer.

The guard shrugged his massive shoulders. "That I can't say. I didn't even know you two had met again let alone a third time," he admitted, giving Bilbo a sympathetic look. "Sorry, lad, but you'll have to ask Thorin yourself."

"As if I want to see him again, the lying little flea," he muttered, scowling down at his feet.

Dwain, wisely, said nothing more.

* * *

"Bilbo!"

Bilbo squeaked as he was swept up into a hug the moment he stepped through the door of the 'Ri home. "Dori! You're squeezing me too hard!" he gasped into the rock hard chest of his captor.

"Good. You deserve it for scaring me," Dori said viciously, squeezing him even tighter in response to his complaint. "Honestly, challenging Lord Motvari, are you insane? Who does something like that?!"

"Um, me?" he answered, peering up at the Dwarf with a lopsided smile. "I'm sorry, Dori. I got Nori arrested again and troubled you with my problems. I'm so sorry!"

"Apology accepted. Honestly, I'm just happy to see you're all right," admitted the weaver, giving Bilbo one more squeeze before looking over to Dwalin, who lingered by the door.

"Who are you?" he asked, arching a silver brow.

"Dwalin son of Fundin and Captain of the Royal Guards," the Dwarf introduced with a bow, and Bilbo felt Dori turn to stone around him. "I have been given the duty of seeing to Master Baggin's protection until his trial."

"I see. I am Dori son of Rikka, and while I'm grateful to you for escorting Bilbo home, I'm afraid your services are no longer needed," Dori said, voice on the edge of being icy. "Please leave."

Dwalin nodded and gave another short bow. "As you wish. I will stand guard outside. Good day."

Bilbo scowled up at the weaver. "Dori."

Dori pursued his lips before letting out a loud huff. "Fine. Master Dwalin, please sit down and join us for dinner," he said, finally releasing Bilbo to look over him in one swift glance. "What are you wearing?"

"Huh? Oh, it's from Óin. Some spare clothes he had from when his nephew stayed over," he explained, looking down at himself and holding out his arms. He worse a rather baggy ensemble of a tunic, a red coat, and black trousers that he had to keep pulling up. "Apparently he outgrew it all years ago, but it fits me for the most part."

"I see. I'll be sure to wash them with extra care then," Dori commented before steering Bilbo over to the nearby table. "Sit down now over here and rest. Don't think I didn't notice that bandage around your head."

"It's fine. Óin already saw to it," he protested, reaching up to run his fingers over the bandage. He looked over to Dwalin who was trying to become one with the wall, and rolled his eyes.

"You can sit down too you know," he told the guard, catching Dori's attention as well.

Dwalin sniffed and raised his head higher. "I'm on duty, lad. It wouldn't be right for me to relax as such."

"So you plan to stand there all night like a statue are you?" said Dori, dubiously as he placed a hand on his hip.

Dwalin simply kept staring straight ahead. "If I must."

Dori and Bilbo shared a look before they both acted. Dori marched over to the younger Dwarf and snagged him by his arm and dragged him over to the chair that Bilbo pushed out for him. He forced Dwalin into the chair in a clang of armor, pushed it in properly with a nod, and then marched into the kitchen to continue preparing dinner.

Dwalin stared after him with his mouth open and his dark eyes wide. "How—! How is he so strong?!"

Bilbo shrugged as he tried not to laugh at the guard's pole axed look. "I don't know, but apparently Dori has always had a good grip on him. That's what his brothers say."

"I think he's stronger than _me_," Dwalin said, looking down at the arm Dori had dragged after him and clenching his hand a few times. "Amazing."

_I wonder if this is the first time Dori has ever met his younger half-brother_, he wondered as he watched the two, and somehow the thought made him feel a bit sad. Though he had no siblings of his own, he knew that it wasn't right for them to grow up without knowing about one another. It was even worse for Dwalin and Dori because he knew how much Dori dotted and adored his little brothers. There was no way he wouldn't do the same for Dwalin if given the chance.

"Do you like lamb, Master Dwalin?" Dori called suddenly from the kitchen.

Dwalin blinked a few times before slowly nodding. "Yes?"

"Good. Then get over here and help me prepare it for dinner," Dori ordered, dicing carrots up in quick, sharp strokes. "And take off that armor while you are in my house. I do not want to listen to you clang about. This isn't a smithy."

_Then again, he could also boss him around like he does with Nori_, Bilbo quickly corrected to himself, and then covered his mouth as his restraint broke and the laughter came tumbling out.

* * *

Nori and Ori were, naturally, happy to see that Bilbo had returned safe and relatively unharmed. Nori in particular was relieved having worried that he had seriously injured Bilbo when pushing him out of the window even though Óin had reassured him that wasn't the case. They were a bit hesitant about Dwalin staying the night but, once they saw how Dori treated him, eased up enough to start teasing him about his babysitting Bilbo. Bilbo estimated it would only take another day before Dwalin finally broke and started teasing them back.

The night went on without much of a hitch until it was time for bed. That was when Dwalin approached Bilbo and whispered six words he had been secretly dreading since he woke up in Óin's home: Thorin wanted to speak to him.

"I don't suppose you could tell him to go away for me?" he mused, looking up at the Dwarf.

Dwalin snorted. "I could, but then he would probably order me to carry you out to him. Less embarrassing for us all if you just deal with him now. And if it helps, Dís says you have permission to hit him once for lying."

It didn't help, actually, but Bilbo didn't expect it to. With great reluctance he dragged himself out of his seat and away from his evening tea, and stalked off for the front door. Dwalin followed him and stood back a respectable distance while the Hobbit slowly marched up to the hooded figure lurking on the other side of the street. As he grew closer, a pale hand reached out to push back the dark green hood to reveal Thorin.

"Bilbo," he said, face tense and grave as if he was about to march off for war. He had his wild hair pulled back in a tight braid with his two signature braids still framing his face. He didn't _look_ like a king; he just looked like Thorin.

"I'm glad to see you. We have much to speak of."

"No, I think we spent enough time together in this life; we're done now," Bilbo declared calmly, and then pulled back and delivered a solid punch across Thorin's face. His hand immediately erupted in pain and he heard Dwalin give out a choked laugh from somewhere behind him. He ignored both the pain and the noise, and focused solely on Thorin, who had simply received the blow without any reaction.

"I deserved that," the Dwarf acknowledged, reaching up and rubbing his cheek with one hand. "Is it my turn now? Can I explain my reasons?"

Bilbo felt his anger—a boiling pot that he had been doing his best to ignore—finally erupt and overflow. "Explain? What is there to explain? You lied to me!" he accused harshly, narrowing his eyes.

"I did," Thorin admitted calmly, much to his ire.

"Why? Why didn't you tell me who you were?" Bilbo demanded, stalking closer to poke the bastard in the chest.

Thorin endured it with a knowing look. "I didn't tell you because I knew you would get angry and punch me," he said, patting his wounded cheek with one finger. "Which you did. _Hard_."

Bilbo let out a strangled shriek. "Are you kidding me?!" he hissed, curling his hands into tight fists to keep from smacking the fool again. "_That's_ why you didn't tell me the truth? Because you were afraid I would _punch_ you?!"

"You sound skeptic."

"I _am_ skeptic!"

"Look, does the reason really matter? I am sorry I deceived you about my identity. I'm sorry I pretended to be someone I'm not. Now will you please accept my apology?" Thorin said, sounding as unapologetic as possible.

It made him yearn to punch the bastard in the face again, and it took all his self-control not to lash out. Only the knowledge that a second hit wouldn't be tolerated by Dwalin kept him from acting. "No. Goodbye," he declared rigidly, turning around and beginning to march away.

Thorin stopped him by grabbing his elbow and swinging him around. "Damnit, Bilbo, _why_ are you so angry? It was only one lie!" the Dwarf growled, a hint of temper finally showing.

The Hobbit jerked his arm out of Thorin's hold. "I'm _angry_ because I _thought_ you were my friend!" he shouted, and stopped short as his words registered with him. Thorin went still and silent as well; blue eyes growing wide in his pale face.

"I thought you were my friend," he repeated, and it finally hit him that he really did believe that. Thorin was not as close to him as the 'Ri brothers or the 'Ur family or even Óin, but it had been getting there. He _liked_ Thorin; had enjoyed speaking with him and arguing and smacking him whenever he did something stupid. He had thought of him as a friend, had trusted him with stories of his family—something he didn't even trust _Nori_ with yet. But with Thorin it had been... different. _Everything_ with him was different, and though Bilbo didn't understand it all, he had thought that maybe, just maybe, Thorin felt the same way.

Apparently, he thought wrong.

"I thought you were my friend," he said again for the third time, and this time he sounded tired. "I thought you _trusted_ me. I thought that I had proved myself worthy of your trust after I helped your prince."

Bilbo let out a broken laugh and gave the king a fake smile. "I guess I was wrong, huh?"

Thorin said nothing. He simply stood there with his lips pursued into a straight line and his hands clenched into fists. Bilbo couldn't begin to read what was going on with the Dwarf no matter how hard he stared at his face. But then, he had never been very good at reading Thorin. Perhaps if he was he would've seen the Dwarf was playing him for a fool since the start.

"I'm going back to bed now," he decided, rubbing his face with one hand. He felt so drained and tired of _everything_. All his problems, all his goals, his entire life just seemed to be a big mess, and he was so _tired _of it all. "I'm exhausted and my head still hurts. Please return to the palace safely. Goodnight, Your Majesty."

He turned around and began to walk away but only made it five steps before Thorin's voice rang out behind him. "You're the only one who looks me in the eye."

Bilbo paused, turned around, and stared at the Dwarf. "What?"

"I said, you're the only one who looks me in the eye. Outside of my family, I mean," Thorin clarified, a blush beginning to creep up his neck. "No one else has ever done that. No one else stands up to me and speaks their mind. No one else has ever treated me the way that you do. It is... refreshing. I didn't want it to change so I just... didn't say anything."

Bilbo couldn't believe what he was hearing. "You're so stupid. You must know by now that I don't care about your title," he said, bracing his hands on his hips. "For Eru's sake, I lived with _Lord Elrond_ for most of my life. Titles mean _nothing_ to someone like me."

"I know that now," Thorin admitted, the blush starting the stain his cheeks a faint pink that brought out the blue of his eyes. "But in the beginning I didn't, and after I suppose I just... forgot who I was. You have a way of making me feel... relaxed. Comfortable, even, like I've known you my whole life. When I'm around you I never feel the need to act like a king or a guard or anything else. I can just be myself and that's... enough."

"So... you didn't lie to me because you thought it was funny?" the healer said slowly, trying to understand the Dwarf's thinking. "Nor was it out of mistrust. You lied to me because... you like how you _feel_ around me?"

Thorin's blush began to migrate to the tips of his round ears. "You don't have to phrase it quite like that," he mumbled, looking away and awkwardly scratching at his nose. He looked surprisingly younger with his face pink and his actions uncertain. It made Bilbo's stomach twist in on itself to see.

He had never felt so torn before. Was he supposed to laugh or scream? Because Thorin's reasoning—as childish and naive as it was—made sense to him. Bilbo _didn't care_ about titles or social classes and for Thorin—who had spent his _whole life_ being known first as a prince and king and second as Thorin—he probably found this type of philosophy refreshing. So it was no surprise, really, that he would try to cling to this feeling that Bilbo offered. However, that didn't change the fact that Thorin had _lied_ to him, and would have continued to do so for however long he could get away with it. And Bilbo could overlook a lot of things but _that_? _That_ was not one of them.

"Our relationship started on a lie. Every moment after was built on something that wasn't true. Knowing that you could do that... I don't know if I can trust you now," he admitted quietly, watching the king carefully.

Thorin scowled deeply, and pulled his shoulders back so that he stood tall and straight again. "Then I will simply have to prove to you otherwise," he declared, reaching under his cloak and pulling out a package wrapped in a dark blue cloth.

"What?"

"I'm going to win back your trust, Bilbo Baggins. Because you are my friend and I don't want to lose you," the Dwarf explained as he held out the package to the Hobbit. "Let me start by giving you this. It's a gift I meant to give you on our next visit. Obviously that didn't go as planned so instead I offer it to you now as an apology, and a request for a chance at forgiveness."

Bilbo stared at it for a moment before slowly moving closer and taking it from the king. He untied the blue silk cloth and unwrapped it until he found a thick, leather bound book inside. The leather was dyed a dark red and it looked newly bound. "What is this?" he asked, looking for a title and finding none.

"A book on the history of Erebor," answered the Dwarf, crossing his arms behind his back. "I translated it into Westron for you."

Bilbo raised his brows until they met his hairline. "Why?"

Thorin arched one of his own dark brows. "Don't you remember? You told me that you wanted to know more about Erebor but could not as there are no books in Westron for you to read," he reminded, nodding to the gift in his hands. "So I made you one. Now you can learn the kingdom's history without having to harass the people around you for stories."

Bilbo did remember, actually, but he hadn't expected Thorin to as well. And for him to take the time to actually _look_ for a book and then _translate_ it _personally_ just for Bilbo to read...

It was a gift beyond words.

_What am I supposed to say to this?_ he wondered, staring down at the large tome. He felt... odd in a way he had never felt before. His stomach was twisting up into a giant knot and his heart felt like it was going to leap out of his chest the way it was beating so fast. He felt like smiling and crying at the same time, and _what the hell_ was that about because that made no sense _at all_—

His contemplation was interrupted by Thorin's awkward cough. "I know it's not much of a gift—" the Dwarf began to say, and Bilbo's head snapped up in alarm.

"It is! It's the best gift I've ever received!" he interrupted, nearly yelling in his haste to reassure the color confused Dwarf. He felt his own cheeks begin to burn as Thorin drew back in surprise, and Dwalin began to cackle again in the background. Ignoring it all, he continued on; tripping over his words like a child learning to walk.

"No one... no one has ever given me a book before. Hell, no one has ever given me a _present_ before," he confessed, hugging the heavy tome to his chest tightly. "I've always... Hobbits don't have a lot when it comes to material things. The only time I ever got something was because I needed it like food and clothes. I never... I have books because I got them for myself. I used to... I _still_ steal them because I'm too poor to buy them. So this... this is my first present and the first book that I never... never had to steal."

Bilbo looked up and gave the wide-eyed Dwarf a half smile. "Thank you for this gift. It is... I have no words to describe how grateful I am right now. I think... I think I might even _cry_ from how happy I feel, and isn't that strange?"

Thorin stared at him and slowly said, "I think... your reaction is normal and understandable in these circumstances. I also think... I will have to find you more books in the future. To discourage this thieving habit of yours."

The healer laughed softly and ducked his head. "I'm still mad at you for lying to me," he admitted. "Don't think that's going to change overnight. It's going to take me some time to get over this."

"As your anger is quite justified, I expected nothing else," admitted the Dwarf with a small grin. "I don't mind you being angry at me, Bilbo, as long as you don't cut me out of your life."

"Even if it takes me months to forget?" he challenged, peeking up at the king through his curls.

"Even if it takes you _years_," retorted Thorin, his grin growing. "But for now I think I should take my leave. Dwalin is giving me an ugly look and I'm sure my guards are anxiously waiting for my return."

"I still can't believe you're the king," Bilbo admitted, shaking his head in wonder at it all. "I mean, you didn't even know about _nickel poisoning_. How can someone like that rule an entire kingdom?"

Thorin sniffed and raised his pointy nose high. "I'm not going to argue with you about this because it would only bring me down to your level," he said magnanimously before giving an elegant bow only one with blue blood could pull off so effortlessly. "Goodnight, Bilbo. Sleep well."

Bilbo rolled his eyes and turned on his heel and began to walk back to the 'Ri home. "Goodnight, Corin," he called over his shoulder, and then grinned as Thorin sputtered behind him and Dwalin began to cackle again.

* * *

Next up: Motvari's fate is decided, Kíli makes another appearance, Bilbo finally finds the Blue Iron, remembers that nothing in this world is ever free, and meets Bard's mummy. We also FINALLY come to the last main plot for this arc, thank God, because I was driving myself crazy over it. See you all then!

**Silver pup**


	26. Act II: The Rogue - Chapter Twelve

Disclaimer: I do not own any familiar characters/settings/plot featured in this story. They all belong to (most likely rolling in his grave) **J.R.R. Tolkien**.

* * *

**A**ct **II**: **T**he **R**ogue

**C**hapter **T**welve

* * *

It took three days for the investigation into Lord Motvari's crimes to come to a conclusion.

"He will be executed by poison at dawn tomorrow," Dwalin reported grimly to Bilbo as they sat at Dori's table together on the fourth day. "Three other of his closes allies will face the same fate. His son and brothers will be sent to prison along with most of his allies."

Bilbo couldn't help but shake his head in remorse. "That's so sad. What about his wife and youngest son? What will happen to them?"

"I believe she plans to return to the Iron Hills where she originally came from," the guard replied with a heavy sigh that showed he shared the same thoughts as Bilbo. "They will be happier and, indeed, safer there than here. Motvari has made too many enemies with his actions for them to remain safe in Erebor."

Bilbo shook his head again. "That poor family," he muttered to himself as he took a sip of his tea.

Dwalin grunted as he reached into his leather vest to pull out a thick envelope. "I also have your decree here as well," he said, sliding it across the table to the Hobbit. "Thorin had it delivered to me this morning. You have to pay a fine that will be taken out of your pay from the clinic."

Bilbo raised his brows as he stared at the guard over the rim of his mug. "A fine? That's it? I thought I would be punished a bit more harshly," he commented after swallowing down the rest of his tea. "Like serving a prison sentence or something."

Dwalin's bushy brows began to climb his forehead. "Are you kidding me? You saved _Kíli's life_. You've earned Thorin's goodwill for the rest of your days."

"He loves his nephew that much?" he wondered, tapping an index finger against the clay cup.

"He does," declared the Dwarf with a firm tone that showed no hesitation. "Fíli and Kíli are his laughter and smiles. They are the only ones who can bring him out of a bad mood and the only ones he won't lash out at when angry. Sometimes I think he loves them more than he does his own siblings." Dwalin paused and made a face as he thought over his words. "Not that I blame him. Dís is a bitch to the highest degree and Frerin takes scatterbrained to a whole new level."

Bilbo snorted. "Speaking of siblings, I hear you have an older brother named Balin," he said, leaning back into his chair while trying to look casual and relaxed. "He hired Ori recently. Do you know why?"

"No. He mentioned expanding his staff but didn't say how," the guard replied, his brows beginning their journey north once more. "Why? Is there a problem?"

"No, it was just a surprise. Ori is a scribe and scholar so it was strange that the Minister of War would recruit him," the Hobbit explained, crossing his arms under each other and tapping his fingers against his elbow.

"Balin likes books even if battle is his true calling," Dwalin admitted, playing with a turquoise bead hanging from his braided beard. "Gets it from our mother; she loved to read and sing. Mahâl only knows what she ever saw in our father with his bloodstained hands and passion for war."

Bilbo sat up straighter in interest. "They were deeply in love then, your parents?" he questioned, curious over the dynamics of the couple. From what he recalled in his conversation with Dori, Fundin had already been married when he began his affair with Dori's mother. He could not imagine what would drive such a straightforward Dwarf to break his vows and take another to his bed, but perhaps Dwarves had different views on such matters.

"Well, my mother certainly was. Practically worshiped my father she was so obsessed with him," the guard explained, frowning slightly at that admission. "Father was certainly fond of her in his own way, but I don't think he ever loved her the way she did him. It's just not in his nature."

"Do you think he ever did? Love someone, I mean," he explained, recalling how sad and desperate Fundin looked when he spoke to Dori on that day a few weeks before. He could not help but think that some of it was tied to the Dwarrowdam who brought Dori into the world.

Dwalin shrugged his massive shoulders. "Who can say? My father is like the stone—unyielding and unchanging. If he ever did love another, he hid it from the rest of the world."

"Oh." Bilbo pushed back his disappointment at the Dwarf's partial answer. "Was theirs an arranged marriage then? Do nobles and royalty do that here?"

"Aye, it was a marriage arranged by their parents," confirmed the Dwarf with a nod. "That practice was more common in my father's days than it is now. Now days the trend is marrying for love and giggles, like how Dís did with Vílin and Glóin with Súna." Dwalin made a face like he had smelt something bad. "Fuck only knows why. Not like love is gonna put food in your bellies."

Bilbo—the product of a love match—decided not to push that topic. "What would you have done if your father had taken a lover while still married?" he asked instead, deliberately widening his eyes so he didn't look suspicious. "Would you be honored bound to kill him or something?"

"What? No, of course not, do we look like reckless Men to you?" Dwalin said, looking at Bilbo as if he had just accused him of shacking up with an Elf. "Marriage issues are between the couple and it is considered rude for anyone else to get involved. Now why do you keep asking me about my parents? Do you know something I don't, Master Baggins?"

"I know a great deal more than you are to ever likely to learn, Master Dwarf," he teased, grinning. "And I told you, my name is Bilbo. Stop calling me 'Master Baggins.' I sound like some stodgy old rich toad when you say that."

"As you say, _Master Baggins_," Dwalin retorted in a mockingly deeper voice just as there was a knock on the door. They both turned to stare at it before looking back at each other.

"Dori and his brothers aren't due home until late afternoon," the Hobbit said slowly, eyes flickering back to the front door as another series of knocks were heard.

"Stay here," Dwalin ordered, rising to his feet while his free hand went to one of the axes leaning against a leg of the table. Thanks to Dori's orders, he was dressed in only bare leathers instead of his full metal plate that he usually wore. Creeping closer to the door, he growled out a question in his mother tongue and received as exasperated sigh in response.

"Dwalin, it's me," said a young male voice. "Open the door."

Dwalin blinked a few times before abruptly scowling and unlocking the door. He threw it open and glowered down at whoever stood on the doorstep. "Kíli, what are you doing here?" he demanded, placing his free hand on his hip. "And where are your guards?"

"I don't know. I lost them back in the Opal District," replied the young prince, sounding unconcerned even as Dwalin's shoulders and back grew tense. "Is Master Boggins in? I need to speak to him."

Bilbo rolled his eyes as he pulled a leg up to rest against his chest. "It's Baggins and yes, I'm here, Your Highness," he called, raising his voice so he could be heard while wrapping a loose arm around his leg. "Let him in Dwalin. No need to stand there and invite trouble in."

Dwalin turned and met his gaze with a scowl before stepping aside to reveal a grinning Kíli. He was dressed in a plain attire of green and brown leather and had, for once, tied his hair back into a messy bun that was already falling down. With Dwalin out of the way, he skipped into the home without any shame, and over to where Bilbo sat at the table.

"It's good to see you're doing better," he said, bracing his hands on the top of a chair and leaning over the table to smile down at the healer. "I was worried when you fainted on me that night."

Bilbo winced awkwardly at the memory. "Yeah, sorry about that. I was a bit... frazzled," he explained, reaching up to rub his head wound that was still healing.

Prince Kíli's smile widened until it began to resemble more of a smirk. "I picked up on that. Well, come along then. We have an appointment to get to."

"Appointment?" he parroted, sharing a look of confusion with Dwalin.

"With the Blue Iron," clarified the brunet, rocking back on his heels while glancing around the home. "I promised you, remember? If you helped me deal with Motvari, then I would take you to meet the leader of the Blue Iron. Well Motvari has been dealt with so now it's time to go meet the boss! So make yourself pretty and let's get moving."

Dwalin let out a strangled shout. "Kíli, you brat, you promised him _that_?!" he growled, reaching over and smacking the young prince on the back of the head. "You little idiot! He nearly died just for someone you—!"

"Dwalin, it's all he asked for!" defended Prince Kíli, rubbing the back of his head and stepping back so he wasn't within the guard's reach. "Besides you can hardly blame me for his adventure into Motvari's home! How was I to know he would go so far to honor our agreement?"

Dwalin did not look like he agreed, but before he could reach over and smack the prince again, Bilbo stood up and slammed his hands lightly on the table. "All right now, enough of that. Give me a moment to leave a note for Dori and then we can leave," he said, struggling not to roll his eyes at the antics of the two.

The guard scowled while his prince beamed triumphantly. Bilbo ignored them both as he set about collecting a piece of paper and some writing charcoal from his bag. He wrote a brief message and left it in the center of the table where it would be seen. Satisfied, he pulled on his satchel and turned back to the duo waiting for.

"All right, I'm ready," he said, patting his bag. "Let's go meet the Blue Iron."

* * *

The leader of the Blue Iron lived, ironically enough, on the Third Level in the Emerald District with the rest of the nobility. Their home was walled off in a corner of the district; a large and dark building built in a Gothic style that went against the otherwise classical beauty of the Emerald District.

"He says he chose this place it's because it connects to secret tunnels," explained Prince Kíli as he unlocked the gate into the estate. "But personally I think he just likes being dramatic."

The inside of the manor resembled the outside much the same way with dark blue marble floors and obsidian furniture, and rather gruesome artwork of battles and war hanging about. It was all finely crafted and so obviously expensive that Bilbo began to feel a bit like he was back in the palace. He did his best to ignore his stirring anger as he followed the young Dwarf up a flight of shiny stairs, and down a long corridor to a room occupied by a fireplace as tall as an Elf and as wide as a mountain. Sitting before the overly large fireplace was a Dwarf dressed in dark blue robes and black leather. Clearly he was going for a theme here.

When the trio entered the room, the Dwarf looked up from the scroll he was reading, grinned, and tossed it onto the silver table before him. "Kíli, you finally brought him! How wonderful! And Dwalin's here too! This just keeps getting better and better."

The guard snorted while Prince Kíli beamed and skipped over to the new Dwarf while Bilbo lingered behind. "A promise is a promise," he chirped, taking a seat on the arm of the black leather chair the stranger sat in. He turned to Bilbo and waved an eager hand at him. "Come, Master Baggins, and meet my most favorite uncle in the whole world!"

"Don't let Thorin or Vé hear that or you'll never find my body," teased the Dwarf as he turned his bright—and familiar, oh _so_ familiar—blue eyes to Bilbo. His neatly groomed brows inched up as he stared at the Hobbit, and Bilbo noticed that one was pierced with a silver barb. "Hullo there. I'm the leader of the Blue Iron. Most folks call me Boss but I prefer to go by Frerin."

Bilbo's mouth dropped open. "_You're_ Prince Frerin?" he sputtered, pointing at the Dwarf.

Prince Frerin patiently nodded with a small smile. "Yes, I know. I just said that," he commented while Prince Kíli chucked beside him.

Bilbo squinted and took a closer look at the Dwarf. Now that he looked, he could see a resemblance to Thorin and Princess Dís in his sharp cheekbones, pointy nose, and generous mouth. However unlike his darker haired siblings, Prince Frerin hosted a glorious cap of blond locks that fell to his thighs in a coordinated mess of curls and braids. Bilbo couldn't help but stare at it all for a moment; taken back by the sheer length and thickness of it all. Even the Dwarf's beard was a masterpiece of gold thread artfully stitched together in patterns he could only guess at. The best feature of it all though was the color of it—a bright yellow that resembled sunflowers in bloom on a fresh spring day.

"You got the better hair," he finally remarked, meeting Prince Frerin's eyes and holding his gaze. "Feel free to tell your brother I said that. Actually, no, I'll tell him myself. That way I can see his reaction for myself."

Dwalin erupted into a sudden coughing fit that didn't fool anyone in the room.

"Do it when I'm around. I would like to see his reaction myself," advised the prince, his smile growing into a smirk that perfectly mirrored Óin's when he was being a bastard. It was rather alarming to see it on another. "Take a seat, Master Baggins. I believe you and I have much to discuss."

The healer did as told, and sat down in the black chair across from the prince. As he slowly eased back into it, Dwalin suddenly spoke up in Khuzdûl; gesturing to Prince Kíli and pointing behind him. The prince let out a groan and leaned back into his seat and uncle; wrapping his arm around the older Dwarf's shoulders and burying his face in Prince Frerin's hair.

"But I want to stay with Frerin," he whined, sounding like a grumpy toddler being ordered to bed.

Dwalin didn't look fazed or convinced. He spoke again in Khuzdûl and then nodded to Bilbo before giving the young prince a pointed look. Prince Frerin chuckled at whatever the guard had said, and reached up to pat his youngest nephew on the cheek while also saying something in Khuzdûl. Whatever he said made Prince Kíli pout but unwind himself from his uncle, and jump to his feet.

"_Fine_," he huffed, stomping off for the door. "I'll go back to the palace so Papa won't worry. Bye, Master Baggins! Feel better soon!"

Bilbo, amused and a bit confused, waved goodbye as the prince and guard disappeared. With them gone, he looked back to Prince Frerin, who was still watching him with his Óin smile. "I apologize for my sister's son," he said when he met Bilbo's eyes. "We haven't seen each other for a few days so he's eager to make up for it."

"It's fine. I think it's nice that he has such a good relationship with his uncle," the Hobbit commented with a shrug. "I have to admit though; I'm a bit surprised to see _you_ as the leader of the Blue Iron. I mean, it's an illegal organization isn't it? How can a prince run such a thing?"

"Yes, it is quite a contradiction isn't it?" Prince Frerin mused, tapping one long finger against his lips. "I suppose I should start from the beginning then. But first, would you like some wine?"

The healer shook his head. "No thanks. I'll need my wits for this."

"Suit yourself. Now then let's see... Ah! So once upon a time, in a beautiful kingdom far under the mountain, there lived a handsome and deranged prince named Throrskjald, who one day decided he wanted to be king. Unfortunately the present king—King Thorin I—was still alive and kicking and had no intention of giving away his crown. So in order to gain what he wanted, Throrskjald hired as many swords as he could from all over the kingdom, and then one night stormed the palace."

"Do you have a point with this?" interrupted Bilbo, raising his brows.

Prince Frerin gave him a dry look that reminded him of his mother when she caught him stealing books. "Yes, now don't interrupt," he chided gently, wagging a finger at him. "So the prince stormed the palace with his hired warriors, believing that he could overcome the Royal Guards and murder his father. Unfortunately for him, the King caught wind of his plans, and had set up a trap in order to catch his murderous spawn. Throrskjald realized this too late and was overwhelmed and captured by the Royal Guards; thus ending his coup and attempt at patricide."

"What happened to him?" Bilbo asked, curious despite himself.

"He killed himself while imprisoned," deadpanned the prince with a careless shrug. "Guess he couldn't take the shame of failure. After that, King Thorin named his daughter's husband, Nipvari, as Crown Prince since he had no sons left. Nipvari took on the name Glóin in honor of his new status, and then the King outlawed all hired swords from Erebor. His logic was that, if his son had not had the means to rebel, then he would not have done so."

"Didn't factor in his shitty parenting habits did he?" mused the healer.

The Dwarf shook his head. "Apparently not. But I guess it would be easier to blame everyone else than admit you're in the wrong," he commented dryly. "Anyway, after that King Thorin ran off to Ered Mithrin to cry about his crazy son, and left Erebor behind to become something of an outpost. But even without him here, his word was still upheld, and so mercenaries remained outlawed in the kingdom. But that didn't stop people from forming groups or offering their services for coin. All it did was allow crooks to run around killing and raping people for pay without any boundaries. So in order to stop this, a plan was proposed: create a mercenary group that would run the underworld and form some sort of rules to keep folk in line."

"But why you? Why not have someone less connected to the Royal Family?" questioned Bilbo, leaning forward in his chair.

"On the contrary, it is my ties to my family that makes me the only choice," rebutted the prince, shaking his head and making his sunshine locks slash through the air. "As leader of the Blue Iron I can keep an eye on any secret threats against Erebor, take action where authorities cannot, and protect my family from any sort of danger. But most importantly, my brother knows that I would never try to use the Blue Iron to threaten him or Fíli in any way, whereas another could not guarantee such a claim."

Bilbo nodded slowly, seeing the logic in such an idea. "Does all of your family know about this?"

Prince Frerin blinked in obvious surprise. "Of course! My grand-uncle is the one who started it. It has become something of a family tradition now. Eventually I will pass down leadership to Kíli so that he may protect Erebor when his own older brother takes the throne."

"Huh. That's... very convenient actually," he admitted, bracing his elbows on his knees and lacing his fingers together. "Thank you for explaining it all for me, Your Highness. Things make a lot more sense now."

Prince Frerin waved an idle hand as he picked up his goblet of wine. "It was the least I could do," he said, crossing one leg over the other and leaning back into his chair. "So tell me, how can I help you today, Master Baggins? Kíli told me you had an offer to make?"

"I do. I'm looking for soldiers willing to help in the plight of my people."

"And what is this plight of your people?"

Bilbo closed his eyes and took in a deep breath before releasing it. He then opened his eyes and looked at the prince watching him with the same eyes as Óin and Thorin. "A dragon named Smaug has taken over our homeland, Your Highness," he began quietly. "He drove us out nearly a hundred years ago and we have been scraping by since then. Now, on the eve of a century since our exile, we have finally raised enough funds to challenge him. That is why I am asking you to please accept our offer and fight him for us."

"This is quite a request you make, Master Baggins. I admit, I'm not too sure what to make of it," mused the Dwarf, swirling his goblet and staring down into it as if it held all the answers. "Part of me wants to refuse but another part of me is intrigued by the idea of fighting a dragon. Not many left in the world to battle, you know."

"What must I do then to win your complete acceptance?" asked the healer, refusing to back down.

The blond took a sip of his wine and seemed to think it over while swishing it around in his mouth. Finally he nodded and swallowed. "Well, first of all I must discuss this with my brother and then my captains," he said, tapping his finger against the rim of his cup. "Their opinions are very important factors."

Bilbo nodded, having expected as much. "Of course."

"But, in the meantime, I have an idea that would help your case," added the prince, peering coyly up at him from under his thick lashes. "A little encouragement to my captains in why they should support you."

Bilbo felt something cold slither down his back. "What do you suggest?"

"First let me call in my associate. She's been waiting to meet you," chirped the Dwarf, holding up a hand and turning to a closed door off to the side. "Morwen! You can come in now."

The Hobbit blinked a few times in amusement as the door opened and a Woman entered wearing a scowl. She was tall as any Elf maid and as broad shouldered as any Dwarrowdam, and stood straight with her head held high like a noblewoman. Her skin was pale and her hair a dark brown and tied back in a tight braid that fell down to her knees. She had brown eyes and a thin face accentuated by full, cherry red lips. She wore an elegant green gown with long, wide sleeves edged in gold lace, and around her forehead was a simple gold band with an emerald set in the center. The oddest thing of all though was the bow on her back; black and glossy and nearly as tall as Bilbo, it made him sit up just a bit more in cautious alarm.

"About time, Frerin," she muttered, shooting the prince a scolding look as she came to stand by his chair that she easily towered over. "I have other things to do today then put up with your dramatics."

Prince Frerin rolled his eyes and waved a hand to Bilbo as he took another sip of his wine. Taking his gesture as a sign, the Woman dipped into a graceful curtsy before Bilbo. "Greetings, Master Hobbit. I am Morwen of Dale," she introduced.

Bilbo sat up and gave an awkward half bow of his own. "G-Greetings, my lady. My name is Bilbo Baggins. How can I help you?"

"She's part of the deal I want to propose to you," cut in Prince Frerin before the Woman could even open her mouth. "You see, Lady Morwen's son is the King of Dale."

The Hobbit blinked in surprise. He had not been expecting to hear that. "Really?"

"Yes," confirmed Lady Morwen with a small nod even as she gave the prince a side-eye. "My son, Bard, became king after my husband's unexpected... passing."

"She killed him," translated the Dwarf, swirling his wine and looking altogether bored.

Bilbo nearly fell out of his chair. "What?!"

"He had it coming," reassured Lady Morwen with a nod as if that was the reason for Bilbo's distress and not her blunt admission to murder.

"She pushed him down the stairs after she caught him beating their son. Tragic," added Prince Frerin with all the sympathy and condolences of a Woman at her mother-in-law's wake. "Simply tragic."

"What was tragic was that he thought he could get away with raising a hand to _my_ child," sneered the brunette, raising her head high like the queen she was.

The healer stared between them, unsure of who he should be more afraid of. "Wow. You're both very... open about this," he said slowly, carefully picking his words.

"It's a well-known secret that I killed him," admitted Lady Morwen with a small shrug. "However since there is no actual _proof_ that I was involved, no one can back up the accusations."

"And you're not afraid that I'll go out and tell people you admitted it?" he asked, eyeing up the bow with a bit more fear now.

Lady Morwen smiled. Bilbo had never seen a wolf smile before, but he was rather certain that if they did, then their smiles would greatly resemble the one directed at him now. "Of course not. I am the Queen Dowager and Head of the Merchant Guild in Dale. There's nothing a little thing like you could do that would ever hurt me," the Woman purred, her voice lowering into a seductive husk.

"Wow. A real confident booster aren't you?" Bilbo jeered in order to mask his fear and alarm. "So what do you want with my pathetic little self?"

"It has come to my attention that you ran into some trouble in the Lead District," commented Prince Frerin, taking another sip of his wine and peering over the rim at the healer. "I believe it was with a few members of the Shadow Blades. Correct?"

He glared across at the prince as his fear and alarm began to give away to anger. "How do you know about that?"

The blond gave him another Óin smirk and a wink. "Ahh, luv, I know everything that goes on in this kingdom. The Shadow Blades are a particular interest of mine as they've been trying to muscle their way into Dale and Erebor."

"Which is why I have come here today," interjected Lady Morwen, her face darkening into a scowl. "These insects are a nuisance and I want them removed from _my_ city. And in order to do that we must first take out their nest here in Erebor."

"And that's where you come in," revealed Prince Frerin, toasting his cup to Bilbo. "We want _you_ to find that nest here in Erebor. Sources say it's somewhere in the Lead District but that's all I've been able to weasel out. Every spy I or my lady here have sent down there have gone missing or turned up dead. The Shadow Blades obviously know what I'm up to so I can no longer risk sending my Dwarrows down there."

"Buy you have no problem risking _me_," he commented, crossing his arms over his chest and flopping back into his seat. He regarded the Dwarf in front of him for a moment with a frown before speaking again, "You planned this from the start didn't you?"

"Of course I did. You think I haven't heard of you or your little mission until now? Please, Master Baggins, give me a bit more credit here," Prince Frerin commented, smiling widely enough to show off the dimples in his cheeks. It reminded him of Thorin's awkward smiles, but the stony look to his eyes was all Princess Dís. "I don't believe you to be a bad sort, luv. If anything, I think you are a very kind individual. But you are still a stranger asking me to put my Dwarrows in harm's way for a land we've never even heard of. If you want us to risk so much for your people, then you must show me that you are willing to do the same."

Bilbo sighed, and dropped his head back against his seat. Alright, he could see Prince Frerin's point. He _was_ asking a lot of the Blue Iron even with his offer of gold on the table. It was only sensible that the Dwarf would be hesitant to accept such an agreement without some sort of reassurance that Bilbo wasn't jerking him around.

"I understand. I will do as you ask. I will find the headquarters of the Shadow Blades for you," he declared with a nod. Then, before the two could do anything more than begin to smile, he pointed one finger at Lady Morwen. "_But_ if I do this than I want _you_ to provide me with soldiers too. At least five hundred Men, no exceptions."

"Are you trying to bargain with me?" said the Woman, her dark brows going high as the corner of her mouth curled up into a smirk. At her side, Prince Frerin went very still as he watched the Hobbit over the rim of his cup.

Bilbo nodded firmly, refusing to be unnerved by the noblewoman before him. "Correct. I know Dale has few warriors to offer but I _will_ take whatever I can from you. I also want a contract drawn up with _both_ of you stating that you will provide me with the warriors I need."

Prince Frerin suddenly snorted into his wine; splashing it all over his beard and making it look like he was sprinkled in blood. He didn't seem to care as he continued to giggle, and had to cover his mouth to keep them down. "Oh, you _are_ a bold one, Master Baggins," he snickered, watching the healer with softer blue eyes. "I see now why so much of my family likes you."

"Thanks," he said dryly, rolling his eyes. "So do we have a deal?"

"Not so fast, boyo. If you're changing things up, than _I_ want to add something in," declared the queen, her wolf smile appearing once more.

He nodded, having expected as much. "Fine. What is it?"

"All I ask for is a promise," began Lady Morwen, slowly, as she stared into Bilbo's eyes with her own dark pair. "Should the day ever come, I want your word that you will help my son in anything that he may ask of."

Bilbo blinked rapidly for a moment, completely taken back by the request. "What? _That's_ what you want?"

"Yes." Lady Morwen didn't so much as blink as she stared down at him. She looked perfectly relaxed. "A promise is a very precious thing, boyo, and I am lacking in souls that I can completely trust. Your word that you will do _anything_ for my son would be a great relief to me as a mother."

"Wow, you're really milking this doting mother routine aren't you?" muttered the Hobbit, scratching at his thigh where he had been injured. It still itched even with the stitches removed. "Very well then, if that's what you really want. _But_ he cannot call on me until after Smaug has been dealt with. After that he can do whatever he wants."

Lady Morwen's wolf smile grew into one that would probably be more fitting on a bear. "Then you have yourself a deal, Master Baggins."

* * *

Dwalin returned shortly after the contracts had been drawn up and worked out and signed by all parties involved. Bilbo—exhausted and tense from arguing and haggling over prices with Prince Frerin—happily followed the guard out of the estate and back to the Tin District. It was already late afternoon by then, and the streets were filling up with Dwarves of all types heading home from another day at work. Bilbo stuck close to Dwalin, and for once was grateful that he had the guard around to push his way through the crowds.

"You look tired. Was Frerin that much of a pain to deal with?" asked the Dwarf after they had left the Emerald District behind.

"Yes," he answered bluntly, not even bothering to lie. "Your prince is ruthless when it comes to his company and money. I thought you said he was a scatterbrain?"

"He is. Just not with business," explained Dwalin, nudging a passing Dwarf away with his shoulders. "It's emotions and people he's dense about. The fool can look at a battle and find every weak point of his enemies and exploit it to his advantage. But put a pretty Dwarrowdam fluttering her eyelashes in front of him and he'll ask her if she has something in her eye."

"So he's like his brother then," translated Bilbo, dryly.

Dwalin didn't even bother trying to mask his smirk. "He's _exactly_ like his brother. Thank Mahâl for Dís or those two idiots would have been tricked into some sort of marriage long ago."

"Scandalous," remarked the Hobbit with smirk that perfectly matched the guard's. "How did Thorin ever get the throne with such denseness?"

"Because Dís wasn't born with anything dangling between her legs," Dwalin answered bluntly, and Bilbo couldn't think of a more accurate answer.

When they arrived back to the 'Ri home, they found all three brothers already home and bustling about. Bilbo told them the basics of what had gone down with Prince Frerin and Lady Morwen while leaving out certain details like Prince Frerin's real identity, and his vow to Lady Morwen. At the end of it the three brothers were staring at him with a range of different emotions.

"How do you manage to find these people? I've lived here my whole life and I've never even _seen _Lady Morwen in passing," complained Ori as he sketched out what looked like the beginnings of a market at the main table.

"I think I'm going to take up drinking. That's the only way I can deal with the combined antics of you and Nori," muttered Dori as he went about cleaning the house.

Bilbo ignored them both and focused on Nori, who was the only one who didn't look too bothered by his adventure to Prince Frerin's estate. "What do you know about Lady Morwen?" he asked, leaning his head against Ori's shoulder as he half-watched the young Dwarf work magic on the paper.

"Who doesn't know about her? She's the biggest scandal in Dale," said Nori as he munched on an apple in the kitchen. "She was the former concubine of the last King of Dale who managed to wiggle her way into becoming his wife after the first one died for 'reasons unknown.' She got pregnant quickly and gave birth to a son, and then a few years later 'offed her husband and placed her son on the throne. Now she's the Queen Dowager and pretty much rules the kingdom through her son."

"A very busy Woman," commented Dori as he dusted one of the portraits on the wall with a rag.

"You're very informed for a lowlife thief," stated Dwalin as he stared at Nori from his place at the table with Ori and Bilbo.

Nori flashed him a toothy grin. "Even lowlife thieves talk, Master Guard," he sneered before biting into his apple.

Dwalin narrowed his eyes but didn't get the chance to speak as Dori—who was gliding by—smacked him on the back of the head with his rag. "Be nice to my lowlife thiefling brother," he ordered, not looking at all remorseful for his actions.

Dwalin rubbed his head and scowled at the weaver as he began to dust down the coat stand. "You know I can have you arrested for assaulting a noble," he grumbled without any real heat. Bilbo was beginning to suspect he was getting used to Dori's bossy ways, and actually enjoyed being treated like one of his little brothers.

"Please go ahead and try. I would love to see how that turns out," Dori shot back in a monotone.

"I'm going to have to return to the Lead District. That's where the Boss said I would find the hideout of these Shadow fools," Bilbo commented, handing Ori a piece of drawing chalk as it began to roll away. "I don't really want to go back though. I don't know what I'll find this time."

"Good because you're not going back," said Nori through a mouthful of apple. "You've been banned, remember?"

"Nori, for Mahâl's sake, don't speak with your mouth full," Dori ordered, flashing his brother a disgusted look. "No one wants to see that. And he's right, Bilbo, you're not going back in there. This time they may just finish the job."

"Then how do you propose that I go about getting the Blue Iron and Lady Morwen's support?" asked the Hobbit, rolling his eyes and pushing away one of Ori's braids that was tickling his cheek. "Because that's the whole reason I came to Erebor to begin with you know."

"You should try asking Thorin," advised Dwalin as he titled his head to the side in order to get a clearer look at Ori's picture. "He'd probably bully his brother into it for you."

Dori tripped on the leg of a chair while Nori dropped his apple, and Ori paused in his sketch to stare at Bilbo with a brow arched high. "When did you meet the King?" he asked plainly.

"Ask _Thorin_—why would _Bilbo_ be asking the _King_ for anything?!" sputtered Dori as he turned on a rapidly paling Dwalin who looked like he was regretting his career choice.

"Fuck that—why would the _King _even _care_ about Bilbo's problems?!" demanded Nori, stalking over to the table to loom over Dwalin and Bilbo both.

The healer gave a disgusted huff. "You just _had_ to open your big mouth didn't you?" he grumbled, pushing off of his comfortable perch and rising to his feet. He turned around and marched off for his room while waving a dismissive hand behind him. "Well, since you brought it up, _you_ get to explain it to them. I'm going to go take a nap. Wake me when dinners ready!"

* * *

So Frerin—much like Dís—is based on multiple aspects displayed by Thorin/Fíli/Kíli in cannon. In this case I focused more on Thorin since they're brothers, but I also added some of traits from the boys. He has his own unique traits to him too because he's his own person, but for the most part I try to base characters like him—cannon but nonexistent in terms of personality—on already established characters who hold a connection to them.

Now Morwen is simply Bard with boobs. No, seriously, she's the female version of Bard only with more bloodlust and less patience for her enemies. I did this because I like the idea of him looking like a carbon copy of his father, but is totally his mother's son in terms of personality. Plus, Bard is such a good father, and I wanted to reflect that in his mother even if she is a bit more violent about it.

**Silver pup**


	27. Act II: The Rogue - Chapter Thirteen

Disclaimer: I do not own any familiar characters/settings/plot featured in this story. They all belong to (most likely rolling in his grave) **J.R.R. Tolkien**.

* * *

**A**ct **II**: **T**he **R**ogue

**C**hapter **T**hirteen

* * *

The day after meeting Prince Frerin and Lady Morwen, Bilbo forced Nori to sit down with him and begin to sketch out a plan to track down the hideout of the Shadow Blades. His friend refused at first but, after Bilbo bluntly told him he was going back into the Lead District with or without his approval, the Dwarf finally gave in. Thus their first task was working out a map of the Lead District in order to better narrow down possible locations for the thieves' hideout.

"As one of the base levels of the kingdom, the Lead District is one of the biggest districts you'll come across here," explained Nori as he drew out a long rectangle on a single piece of paper. "It's been divided up into five sections with four of them belonging to a syndicate. The center is the only neutral area and the only place you won't get harassed by the gangs."

"I've been there before. It's where we were to meet Bifur's supposed 'informant.' I think we came in from the west side," commented Bilbo, tapping the side of the paper where west was written out.

"Makes sense. The west is controlled by the One Order group and they're pretty lenient with access so long as you pay," said the Dwarf with a nod as he drew out the borders of the west. "Next to them are the Crazy Ones; they run the east side and don't really care who passes through as long as it's not a rival gang."

Bilbo hummed as he strained to recall his night in the Lead District. "I think that's where Bifur took me after I got hurt," he said slowly, nabbing a handful of nuts from the bowl next to him. "He took me to a place where there were Dwarves of two genders or none? I don't remember the phrase he used."

"_Amlâkul_," suppliedhis friend, not looking very surprised. "They live in the east under the protection of the Crazy Ones. There are some in the north too but most live on the east side. Bofur says that Bifur likes to go drinking with them because they're the only ones who can keep up with him."

Somehow he wasn't surprised. "How nice for him," he muttered, rolling his eyes and leaning further over the table to point at the north section that was the smallest of the five. "What about the north? Who owns that?"

"The Forty Diamonds. They're a Dwarrowdam only gang who are famous for robbing the estates of nobles up above," Nori explained with a grin, pushing some of his loose hair behind one ear. He had left it down for the day as he was, apparently, too lazy to bother with it. "They operate only a small section but they've been around since Erebor was founded, and they have the most wealth out of all the gangs put together. The Office of Investigations has been trying to catch them for years but they haven't been able to pin any real crime on them."

The Hobbit laughed. "Sounds like something my cousin Prim would love to join!" he said, thinking back fondly on his dear cousin. "She's always been interested in adventure and danger the little imp."

Nori grinned back with genuine warmth in his face. "You should invite her to visit then! I'll take her to meet them myself_. _If she's half as bossy as you, than she'll fit right in with the rest of them."

"Careful what you ask for; I may just take you up on it," he teased back before looking back down at the map. "Okay, so who runs the south section now? It looks like they own the biggest chunk."

The warmth on Nori's face went cold. "That is ruled by the Thuggee gang," he said in a low voice, tapping his finger on the south end of the paper. "They're the strongest of all the gangs and for good reason. They're robbers and assassins who offer their services to whoever has the most coin. You'll find them responsible for a good chunk of the murders her in Erebor. Wouldn't be surprised if they were involved in Lord Eikar's murder too."

Bilbo went a bit cold at the thought. "They're that bad?" he asked, looking down at the crude map and taking in the large section they had under their control.

"The worst. Stay away from them at all costs," his friend ordered sternly. "They'll have no problem with cutting you down just because they feel like it."

"Do you think such a gang could be involved with the Shadow Blades?" Bilbo wondered, grabbing another handful of nuts and shoving them in his mouth.

Nori shrugged one shoulder. "Maybe," he said, running his tongue over his teeth in thought. "But I really can't say for sure. Bifur could probably tell us. We should go ask him and see if he'll help us out."

"I don't know if we should ask him. He's already gotten into so much trouble on my account," the brunet said slowly, biting his lower lip. "What if something worse happens this time?"

"He's the only one who knows how these Shadow fuckers work. We need his help if we're going to find their base," his friend pointed out, nabbing some of his nuts. "And he needs to get rid of them before they send more guys after him. It would be best if we all just worked together."

Bilbo made a face but didn't argue. Nori was correct, after all. "Fine. We'll go by later tonight and ask him. But don't be surprised if Bjarte ends up punching us," he grumbled, slouching down and dropping his chin onto the table.

"He won't punch you. He thinks you're cute and sweet," protested the thief, tossing come of the nuts into the air and catching it with his open mouth. "By the way, where's your guard dog? Is he coming back?"

"No. Dwalin told me he's been recalled to the palace. With Lord Motvari dead and most of his allies in prison, I should be safe now so there's no need for him to stay," he answered, watching Nori miss in catching one of his snack. "Why? Did you grow to like him or something?"

Nori shook his head. "Nah. He's alright for a blue blood, mind you, but that's not it. I just... Dori seemed kind of fussy with him, ya know? I wanted to figure out why."

"Because he's _Dori_?" offered Bilbo, raising his brows. "He fusses over everyone and everything."

"No. Not like this. This was different," Nori insisted, mouth thinning into a straight line. "Dori treated him like he treats me. He only does that with us—_his family_—and no one else. It's weird that he would be acting like that with this guard."

Bilbo sighed and lifted himself up so he could lean back into his chair. "You should ask Dori then," he advised, pulling one leg up onto the chair and wrapping his arms around it loosely. "He's the only one who can say for sure."

The line to Nori's mouth grew thinner. "I did, and he avoided it like some fluttery insect," the Dwarf muttered, finishing off the rest of the nuts with one bite.

The Hobbit just rolled his eyes. "If Dori doesn't want to talk about it then you shouldn't push him," he advised, resting his chin on his raised knee. "You have things you don't like to talk about with him. Why wouldn't he be the same?"

"Stop being logical. It's annoying," the thief grumbled, running a hand through his thick hair as it fell into his face.

He stuck his tongue out in response. "Sorry for being logical," he mocked before an idea struck him. "Hey, can I practice braiding on your hair?"

Nori jerked back into his seat as his eyes went wide. "What? Why?" he asked, his voice coming out strangled.

"It's for my younger cousins. I'm usually in charge of getting them ready for the day, and the girls are always asking me to decorate their hair, but I'm afraid I'm no good at it," Bilbo explained with a sheepish grin. "That's why I wanna practice some of the braids I've seen Dori do. I think they would like it."

Nori stared at him in consideration for a moment before slowly nodding. "Alright," he said, rising to his feet. "Let me get my box. Pull out your chair and grab me a cushion to sit on."

Bilbo nodded eagerly and went about pulling out his chair and nabbing a large purple cushion from Ori's room. When he returned he found Nori there with a black lacquered box with silver designs on the cover. He held it out to Bilbo while taking the cushion from him with his free hand.

"Here—my combs and ties," the Dwarf said, dropping the pillow and then flopping down on it. "I don't have any needles and thread like Dori, but I have pins and oil and beeswax in there."

"Why does he have thread? Does he sew his hair?" wondered the healer as he took a seat behind Nori with one leg crossed under him.

The Dwarf scoffed and titled his head back to cast a judging look on Bilbo. "Obviously. How else do you think he gets his braids to stay in place?"

"Luck?" he offered with an uncaring shrug as he opened the box in his lap. Inside he found a mess of marble and ivory combs, long thin pins, leather ties, and three tiny glass bottles. "I never really thought about it. I just thought it was neat that he could do all of that using just his hair."

"A lot of it is natural skills," admitted Nori as he leaned his head back against Bilbo's knee. "He's really good with his fingers so that helps. But he also has a lot of tools and better hair than me and Ori. Even if it did go gray early on."

"His hair wasn't always that color?" Bilbo asked in surprise as he picked out the biggest comb among the bunch—an ivory piece with twin birds decorating the shaft. It was obviously old but still in good condition.

"Nah. He used to have dark brown hair but he went gray and then white after he hit seventy," Nori said, tensing for a moment as Bilbo began to brush out his hair locks before slowly relaxing.

"Did your mother have brown hair or red hair?" he asked, beginning to gently untangle the thick hair before him. To his surprise, Nori's hair was soft and smooth to the touch even though it was a mess of knots and tangles. Clearly he also had good hair even if he didn't think so.

"Ma had hair like me and Ori," confirmed the Dwarf with a nod as he tapped his fingers against his bent knee. "Dori was the only one with dark hair. Ma was always jealous of that. She loved his hair and used to brush it out for him every night. It was the only time I ever saw her actually take care of him instead of the other way around."

Bilbo paused for a second when he heard that before resuming his careful brushing. "Dori has been caring for everyone since he was born," he stated without question.

The Dwarf nodded. "Yeah. Since he's the eldest, Ma relied on him for everything," he admitted softly, his shoulders and back growing tense again. "He's never complained though. Just did what had to be done. Stubborn old goat."

Bilbo nodded as he moved onto the middle section of Nori's hair. "My mother had dark brown hair that she always wore in a braid down her back," he commented, deliberately changing the subject in order to cut off Nori's darkening mood. "It was curly like mine, of course, but not as thick. She actually had very thin hair for a Hobbit."

"Is that not normal amongst your kind?" wondered the thief, his voice returning to its former tone.

"It is with some clans like hers," the healer confirmed, beginning to tug through a rather thick knot. "The Tooks, Brandybucks, Bracegirdles, and Grubbs all tend to have thinner, wavier hair while the Gamgee-Underhill Clan, Boffin-Goodbodies Clan, and Bolgers all have thick, tightly-coiled curls that look like corkscrews."

Nori lightly flicked Bilbo's foot where it dangled next to him. "Your hair isn't like any of those. What the hell is with that?"

"That's because I have hair like my father and his clan," he retorted, retaliating by pulling harder on the hair in his grasp. "Only two clans have hair like mine—the Baggins and the Brandybucks. The Brandybucks tend to have darker hair though while we Baggins favor brown, brown, and more brown."

Nori snorted as his shoulders and back slowly grew more and more relaxed. "Hey, why do you live with your mother's clan when your last name is Baggins? Shouldn't you be with your father's clan instead?"

Bilbo froze in surprise at the question. Before he could think of an answer, Nori was already speaking again in a rush. "You don't have to tell me if you don't want to," he said, turning back slightly to meet Bilbo's gaze to show that he meant no harm. "I know you don't really like to talk about yourself or your people much. I was just wondering is all."

The healer shook his head and nudged Nori's head back into place. "No, it's fine. I don't mind telling you this since it's not a big deal," he reassured, returning to his task. "My parents originally lived with my father's clan until he and my granddad got into a huge fight when I was little. We left because of it, and joined my mother's clan instead. So when they died, it was only right that I stayed with them over the Baggins Clan."

"Oh. I thought it was something more devious. How boring," the Dwarf commented lightly.

He lightly yanked on Nori's hair again. "Shut up. We can't all have glamorous parents like you," he teased as he began on the right section of hair.

"Mmm. You... I've never heard you talk much about your father," the thief said carefully, his tone deepening slightly.

"No, I don't," he admitted easily. "Mostly because there's not much to say. He was a quiet soul who worked hard all his life. He loved to cook and wanted nothing more than to share that joy with others. He always hoped that his cooking would bring joy to whoever ate it."

"What a simple fellow," Nori joked but in a gentle tone.

Bilbo smiled. "Yes, but he had his own set of rules he followed," he explained as he finally finished brushing out all the knots. "He would only make healthy food because he believed that it was his duty to both feed and nurture the eater. Once, back in Gondor, he refused to cook any sort of greasy meals for a nobleman on account of his ill health. Said it would go against his principles."

Nori let out a low whistle. "That's pretty ballsy of him. Was he fired or arrested?"

"No. He actually challenged the nobleman to prove him wrong," he said with a laugh, beginning to separate the thick hair into sections with the hairpins. "Father told the nobleman to eat only the food that he cooked for one week, and if at the end of the week he didn't feel better, he could throw my father into prison."

"What happened?"

"Well the nobleman accepted the bet, of course, and ate only the food my father cooked for one week. At first he hated it because my father only fed him vegetables and no meat," he explained, laughing again as he recalled the sullen look the nobleman used to wear around meal times. "But slowly he grew to enjoy it more and more. At the end of the week he was admitting defeat and begging my father to stay and cook for him for the rest of his life."

"Did he stay?" wondered the thief.

Bilbo nodded with a small hum. "For a time, yes. Until he got sick and died."

Nori tilted his head to the side to look up at him through his hair. "Your father or the nobleman?"

"My father, you ass," he laughed, flicking the Dwarf on the forehead before forcing him to turn back. "Now stop moving so I can finish this braid."

Nori grunted, and leaned further back against Bilbo's knee because he was a brat. "Do you know the illness that killed him?"

Bilbo clucked his tongue as he carefully wound the three strands in his hand together. "Yes. It was a blood fever. Very common in Gondor at the time," he explained absently, most of his attention focused on the red hair in his grasp. "My mother and I ended up with it too but we got better. Father was not so lucky."

"Oh. I'm sorry," Nori said awkwardly, drumming his fingers against his knee and hunching in on himself.

"It's fine. It was a long time ago," he reassured, finishing up the braid and tying it off. "I've come to accept it. Now I smile when I think back on him and my mother."

"That's good. I'm... glad you had that. Good parents, I mean," Nori said, stumbling over his words before clearing his throat and abruptly changing the subject. Bilbo allowed it and tried his best not to linger too much on the memories of his father. After all, he didn't want to prove himself a liar to Nori.

* * *

Dori was not impressed with their plan to visit the Lead District and had no problem sharing it. However he didn't attempt to stop them and only ordered them to be back before dawn before turning to start dinner. Bilbo felt a little guilty over it because he _knew_ Dori was worried—the stony expression was a dead giveaway—but did his best to ignore it.

They set out for the 'Ur family home first to propose their offer of alliance to Bifur as Nori had suggested. They found them all home and happy to see Bilbo for the first time since the robbery. Dwalin had not allowed him to leave the 'Ri home until Motvari had been dealt with, and so Bilbo had been unable to visit and check up on his friends. Seeing them healthy and safe was a huge relief for him.

"Bilbo! Ya alive!" cheered Bofur when he saw them standing on his doorstep. Bilbo barely got the chance to open his mouth before he was scooped up into a hug that lifted him off his feet. He squeaked as the Dwarf squeezed him and spun around into the house and stumbled in while still shaking Bilbo back and forth in his arms.

"Sooo good to see ya amongst the living again," the miner practically cooed, burying his face in the Hobbit's hair. "Bifur was so sure ya would never wake up again! Salty old bastard!"

"Screw off, that's not what I meant and ya know it," growled Bifur as he came stomping over to his cousin to manhandle the healer away. "Let him go ya fool! Did ya forget he has a head wound? Ya think he wanna be swinging around with that?"

"Awww I didn't think you cared, Bifur," drawled Nori, closing the door behind him as he came sashaying into the small house. "You're so sweet I think I'm getting a toothache."

Bifur rolled his eyes and gave Bilbo a scolding look. "Ya couldn't leave the badger at home?" he muttered, scanning the healer up and down before giving a nod. "Ya look good, boyo. That healer did his job right."

"It wasn't a very serious injury. I could have dealt with it on my own," Bilbo reassured, smiling up at the Dwarf. "How about you? Are you and the others doing well?"

"Pfft, we're all fine," promised Bjarte, coming down the stairs with his hair undone and beard unbraided. He pulled his husband off of the Hobbit while giving Bilbo a wink and smirk. "Good to see ya again, lad. Heard ya got the evidence to your prince and then fainted on him. Good job."

Bilbo made a face at the reminder of his fainting act. That had _not_ been one of his better moments. "Yes, but you all played a big part too. Thank you for that," he said, giving a bow to the trio. "I would not have gotten so far without your help."

Bofur scoffed and reached over to muss his hair up with one hand. "Don't be stupid, of course ya would've! Ya got friends in high places remember?"

"That's right. Lord Óin, Lord Dwalin, _and_ Lord _Fundin_," Bjarte listed with one hand while propping the other on his hip. "Who's gonna pop up next? The King himself?"

Nori had a sudden and very violent coughing fit that forced him to lean on Bofur for support.

Bilbo sniffed, and reached up to fix the collar of the coat he had borrowed from Ori. It was several times too big for him but he couldn't complain. The coat was clean and protected him against the cold—what more did he need? "I had nothing to do with Lord Fundin's involvement," he vowed primly. "I've only ever met him that time I got arrested with Nori here. If you want to know his motives for helping, you'll have to ask him yourself."

Bjarte raised a dubious brow. "I did. He said he was doin' his son a favor. Do ya know what he meant by _that_?"

"I think... that is something you must take up with Lord Fundin and his son in question," the healer said slowly, taking care not to look in Nori's direction. "But enough about that. I didn't just come here to check on you all. I also came to ask you for another favor."

The three Dwarves shared a look. "Another one? Who ya planning to challenge now? The Iron Lady?" asked Bifur with a mocking smirk.

"I don't even _know_ who that is," Bilbo retorted, rolling his eyes. "I'm actually trying to find the Shadow bastards now. I got a tip that they're trying to set up a base in the Lead District and I've been 'hired' to sniff them out."

Bifur immediately lost his smirk and grew serious. At his side, Bjarte's eyes narrowed while Bofur grew very still and silent. "I think ya better start from the beginning," ordered Bifur, gesturing for Bilbo to sit down on their worn down couch. "And don't leave _anything_ out."

Bilbo did as told and shared with them his meeting with the Blue Iron and Lady Morwen, his bargain to gain their services, and finally his deal to track down the Shadow Blades for them. Nori helped now and again by filling in details Bilbo had forgotten and by showing them the map they had sketched out in order to track down possible locations. During the story, Bombur returned home and, after cheerfully greeting both Bilbo and Nori, joined his brother and cousins in their discussion. At the end of it Bifur had declared unanimously that they would help him get rid of the Shadow Blades.

"They won't stop hunting me now that they know where I am," he acknowledged grimly, dark eyes shadowed by the weight of his past. He had grown tenser throughout Bilbo's story until he resembled more of a rock than a Dwarf. "I gotta take them out before they can act again."

"It would be best to get them now while they're still tryin' to build up their power here," agreed Bjarte, leaning against Bifur's side while holding his husband's hand in his lap in silent support. "Even better if it's with help from the Blue Iron and Lady Morwen. They won't let any of them escape."

Bilbo nodded sadly as he studied his friend over his knees. "I'm sorry to drag you into my schemes again," he apologized, wrapping his arms tighter around his legs. "If I could, I wouldn't bother you with any of this, but I just have no choice."

Bifur scoffed. "Don't be stupid, boyo, it's not a bother," he rebuked, shaking his head. "No, this is a good thing. I gotta deal with these fuckers eventually so why not now when I got the power to do it?"

"He's right. With the back of the Blue Iron and Lady Morwen, the Shadow Blades won't stand a chance," agreed Bombur with his hands crossed over his belly. He closed his eyes and seemed to think deeply over something before nodding firmly. "Right. This is what we're going to do: we are going down to the Lead District tonight to gather information and _only_ information. Once we know what's going on, we'll go from there."

"Sounds good. Who's going?" wondered Bofur, glancing over his brother and cousins.

"All of us except Bjarte," declared Bombur, opening his eyes and calmly looking to the blond in question. "Bjarte, please stay here with my wife and daughter. You know she doesn't like to be alone."

Bjarte nodded without complaint. "Will do. Make sure Bifur doesn't visit the gambling dens. Last time he lost us eighty coins."

Bifur hissed and elbowed his husband in the ribs. "Traitor! Ya supposed to be on _my_ side!"

"Says who?" retorted the blond with a smirk.

"Are you sure you want to come? It isn't pretty down there," Nori commented, looking at Bombur with a brow raised.

Bombur nodded calmly as he rose to his feet. "I know. I've been to the Lead District before so I know what to expect," he reassured. "Plus, I can't leave these two alone again. The last time I did, they ran off and got arrested. That's not happening again on my watch."

"Ya know, I could've sworn _I _was the eldest in this family," muttered Bifur as he untangled himself from his husband.

"Well, ya definitely an elder," Bofur said cheerfully, and then cackled when Bifur cursed him out in Khuzdûl.

"If we're ready then we should leave now," advised Bilbo, ignoring the feuding cousins. "I don't want to be out all night. It will worry Dori."

Bombur nodded in agreement as he pulled on his coat. "Agreed. Let's head out. Bifur, stop swearing already. Bofur, just don't speak at all. Bjarte, guard the house. If we're not back before dawn, pay a visit to the prisons. We might just end up there after all."

* * *

When they arrived at the Lead District, it was decided that they would cover more ground by splitting up. Bombur dragged Bifur and Nori to the west side of the district while Bofur and Bilbo headed out to the east side together. Bilbo—who had been too busy trying not to faint or bleed to death the last time he was in the east section—was surprised by what he saw there.

"Is that Dwarf an _amlâkul_?" he asked Bofur, subtly pointing to a Dwarf nearby dressed in a blue and yellow gown with the sleeves ripped off and a slit on both sides.

Bofur glanced at the Dwarf in question and made a face. "Nah, that's just a Dwarf from the Crazy Ones."

Bilbo blinked a few times and looked closer at the Dwarf. "Why is his face painted white and half his head shaved off?" he asked, tilting his head to the side slightly. "And he has a tattoo on his cheek. Is that Khuzdûl?"

"Yeah, that's kinda their look," Bofur explained, awkwardly scratching at his nose. "See, the Crazy Ones are not so much a gang as they are a group of wild Dwarrows who do what they want. That's why they dress however they want, say what they like, and pretty much get on everyone's nerves. But they're also the most open minded of all the gangs and don't have no problem with outsiders, _and _they protect the _amlâkul_ so not altogether a bad sort."

Bilbo nodded slowly. "Then they probably wouldn't be involved with the Shadow Blades, huh?" he mused, rubbing his bottom lip between two fingers. "That narrows it down to three. What do you think of the others?"

"Ehh, it could be any of them but I'm betting my money on the Thuggees," Bofur said, shrugging. "They the most violent and most ruthless of the four. Wouldn't be surprised to see them team up with those assholes."

"I see. Well, let's keep looking. Maybe we'll find a clue or a hint from the people living here," he suggested, and the miner nodded in agreement.

Their answer came to them an hour later in the form of an old beggar sitting at a corner. Bilbo first noticed him on account of the dirty bandage wrapped around his foot that was clearly mangled. Though he knew he didn't have time, he also couldn't ignore such an injury on a helpless person, and stopped to offer his aid to the Dwarf. The beggar eagerly accepted and allowed Bilbo to unwrap his foot and clean up the injury to the best of his abilities.

"Ya a kind one, lad," the beggar rasped, his voice low and weak. His green eyes were bright with fever and his face flushed and Bilbo knew, with a sinking heart, that the poor Dwarf was likely suffering more than just an injured foot.

"I'm sorry I can't do more for you," the Hobbit apologized softly as he cleaned out the wound with his supplies.

"Ya doin' more than most would," reassured the beggar, giving him a lopsided smile that showed off his missing teeth.

Bilbo tried not to show how much that affected him. "Do you have any other pain? Any other injuries that I can see to while I'm here?"

The old Dwarf shook his head and gave him a gentle smile. "Nuthin' ya can fix now, lad. Save ya stuff for another soul. I'm good with just this."

"I can still try. Just because you don't believe you're worth saving doesn't make it true," he protested, beginning to wrap up the beggar's foot in a clean bandage.

The Dwarf simply kept smiling. "What is a nice lad like ya doin' in these parts?" he asked, glancing up at Bofur, who stood nearby with his arms crossed over his chest.

"We're lookin' for a group called the Shadow Blades," the miner answered, gazing down at the two with a solemn expression. "Ya hear anything about it, old timer?"

"Not since I left Ered Luin," the beggar admitted with a toothy smile. "But I heard talk 'bouts them Order folks teamin' up with some group from outside. Might be them, might not, but still worth checkin' out, yea?"

Bilbo paused and exchanged a considering look with Bofur. "Indeed. Thank you for telling us that," he told the old Dwarf, patting his foot kindly after he finished wrapping it up.

The beggar simply kept smiling. "Thank ya for helpin' an old Dwarrow like me. Mighty kind of ya."

Later, after reluctantly leaving the beggar behind, Bilbo turned to Bofur as a plan began to form in his mind. "Let's go find the others," he whispered, mind going over what he just learned. "I think I have an idea of how to trap these Shadow Blades."

* * *

Fun fact: all the gangs mentioned here are based on real, historical gangs from around the world. All but the One Order took place in the past and yes, Thuggee is a real word. It is Hindi for 'deceiver' and is where the word thug originally came from. They roamed across much of South Asia for six hundred years and were famous robbers and murderers. I know I should have chosen something more suitable to call them like "The Deceivers" but Thuggee sounds sooo much better.

Also my personal head cannon for Fundin is that his hair went white prematurely when he was younger, and that Balin and Dori both inherited this genetic quirk. Why did I choose this? Because I can't think of any other reason for why Balin and Dori have white hair while Thorin didn't in the movies when he is, canonically, older than them. Óin also inherited this too even though both his parents didn't because he just got the crap luck in the genetic lottery.

**Silver pup**


	28. Act II: The Rogue - Chapter Fourteen

Disclaimer: I do not own any familiar characters/settings/plot featured in this story. They all belong to (most likely rolling in his grave) **J.R.R. Tolkien**.

* * *

**A**ct **II**: **T**he **R**ogue

**C**hapter **F**ourteen

* * *

When Bilbo told his friends of his plan to trap the Shadow Blades, they reacted much the way he had expected—with horrified disbelief.

"Are ya crazy?" asked Bofur, staring at Bilbo as if he just couldn't understand how such a person made it so far in life without permanent brain damage. "How do ya expect to meet _and_ bargain with the most powerful folk in the underworld?!"

"Simple: I'm going to ask," replied the healer, raising his chin higher in challenge to the Dwarf. "I'm sure that these gangs don't want the Shadow fuckers teaming up with the One Order group. It would spark off a war between the four of them, and will change the order of things down here. So we'll off them a deal: find where the Shadow Blades are hiding, and we'll take them out before they can help the New Order take _them_ down."

"Ya crazy," Bifur stated, slowly shaking his head and looking five seconds away from walking off because there were limits to friendship. "Ya off your nut. Nori, tell him he's crazy."

"You're crazy," Nori dutifully repeated with a nod, face set in a calm mask. "You're a crazy, crazy little bastard. Now who are we going to see first?"

"Nori!" Bifur hissed in betrayal, smacking him on the shoulder.

"The Crazy Ones," Bilbo replied with a perfectly straight face that he felt deserved an award. "They're the most open minded of all the groups, right? Then they're the ones who will most likely hear us out."

"Okay, sounds reasonable," acknowledged Bombur who, besides Nori, seemed open to Bilbo's plan. "But what if they say no? Or worse, what if the _Crazy Ones_ are already allied with the Shadows?"

"Then we're screwed and probably gonna be killed," he answered point blank, shrugging one shoulder. "Look, I understand if you don't wanna come along and would rather go home now. I don't blame you and would never hold it against you. But this is the only plan I have and, unless anyone else knows anything, it's all I got to go on."

Bofur and Bifur shared a look that Bilbo couldn't read that involved a lot of eyebrow raising and scowling. "I suppose it wouldn't hurt just to talk to 'um," granted Bofur with obvious reluctance as he turned to meet Bilbo's gaze.

"And at least we know the Crazy Ones wouldn't ever work with the Shadow Blades. Goes against their chaos code or something," admitted Bifur, wrinkling his nose.

Bilbo rolled his eyes and shared a look with Bombur. "I don't know how you put up with these two all these years. You must have the patience of the Valar," he commented, ignoring the offended looks he received in turn.

"How do we find the leader of the Crazy Ones?" he asked, this time directing the question to Nori.

"His name is Yngvi and he's usually hanging around the gambling den he runs," the thief informed him, casting a side-eye at Bifur. "Of course, not too sure we should be going there with this one along."

"Oh, fuck off, I can control myself," snarled Bifur, turning on his heel and marching off. When he realized no one was following, he turned around and glared at them like an angry wolf. "Hurry up already! We don't got all night!"

"Ya don't have to yell, Bifur, we're right in front of ya," Bombur scolded lightly as he marched over to his cousin.

"Ya, Bifur, shut ya loud mouth before ya scare the neighbors," added Bofur, joining his cousin on the other side.

Nori rolled his eyes as he and Bilbo followed after them. "Wow, I can already tell this is going to go greeeat."

* * *

The gambling den was a stooped, decrepit building made of sandstone and mud. It had large, arching windows with red curtains and a door less entrance. As they grew closer, Bilbo could hear laughter, yelling, cursing, and even singing coming from the brightly lit building. If it wasn't for the location and circumstances, he would have found it an enticing place to explore for a few hours.

Inside the den, Bilbo found tables of Dwarves playing cards or dice or drinking and laughing. There was a bar set up in the back that was being manned by a tall, scarred Dwarf and a makeshift ring to the left where two Dwarves were attempting to grapple with each other and failed as they kept falling down. Bilbo could only hope that the reason was they were drunk, and not simply too injured to fight anymore.

As he followed his friends further into the den, he began to notice that most, if not all, of the Dwarves there were dressed or adorned in wild and extravagant ways. One Dwarf was wearing a pink gown that had been split down the middle and now acted as a strange cape for him. Another had painted or possibility even tattooed half his face with looping spirals and sharp curves. There were even Dwarves who had shaved their hair off completely and left only the smooth skin behind. It was a shocking mixture of styles that had no business going together, yet somehow still fit with the scene before him.

When they arrived at the back of the gambling den, they found a raised platform covered in tacky pillows where a group of four Dwarves sat playing a card game. Bilbo quickly zoomed in on the Dwarf sitting on a mountain of pillows in the middle. He was raised just slightly above everyone else in a manner that clearly marked him as the leader of the group. As they grew closer, Bilbo was able to get a better look, and found himself facing a rugged looking Dwarf with dark skin, tilted eyes, and a lean figure. Like his comrades, he wore a ridiculous attire that included a bright red robe that was left open to reveal his naked, tattooed chest, black leather pants, and bare feet. The best feature of it all though was the torn yellow skirt he wore over his pants. It was bright and eye-catching and Bilbo had a feeling that Lobelia would've been beside herself with jealousy if she saw it. Yellow was her favorite color.

"Are you Yngvi? The leader of the Crazy Ones?" called out Bombur when they were close enough.

The fetching Dwarf looked up with one dark brow raised as the Dwarves around him all paused to turn and stare at the group. "Depends on who's askin," he drawled, his voice deep and smooth. His dark brown hair—lumped together and twisted into thicker locks—fell into his face, and he pushed it back without a care.

"We're lookin' to make an offer to the boss," supplied Bifur, looking the group up and down. "Ya got the time for that?"

The Dwarf stared at them mutely for a moment before lazily flicking his fingers. As soon as he did, the group of Dwarves broke up and went their separate ways; taking with them their drinks and cards. Once they were gone, the remaining Dwarf stretched out his arm to the pillows around him.

"Take a seat," he said, leaning his elbow on a short iron table at his side. "I am Yngvi. You?"

"Bombur son of Baraldur," introduced the redhead, giving a cheerful nod as he gracefully sat down with his legs tucked under him. "This is my brother Bofur, our cousin Bifur, and our friends Nori and Bilbo."

Yngvi's eye flickered to each person and he nodded in greeting to them all evenly. His eyes though lingered the longest on Bifur and Bilbo. "Right. Good to meetcha. Now whaddaya want?"

"As I said, we're here to propose a deal," Bombur explained patiently, meeting Yngvi's dark eyes and holding his stare without flinching. "Have ya heard of a group called the Shadow Blades?"

Yngvi gave the barest tilt of his head. "Maybe. What's it to you?"

"The Blue Iron is looking to eradicate them," supplied Bilbo, speaking up for the first time and gaining the criminal's attention. "I've been sent to find their hideout. However, since I'm a stranger to the Lead District, I have no idea where to look. So I—"

"Came to me for help in finding the creepy bastards," finished the Dwarf, the corner of his pierced lips twisting into a vicious sneer. "Yeah, I've heard enough. Not interested. Get out."

Bifur and Nori tensed on either side of Bilbo but he ignored it. "May I ask why?" he asked politely.

"Because the Blue Iron has done nuthin' good for us," Yngvi explained, his dark eyes hard and cold. "They're just like the rest of this fucking city—turnin' their noses up at us like we nuthin' but soot. Fuck the Blue Iron, fuck this kingdom, and fuck _you_ for tryin' to use us like your fucking blood hounds."

Bilbo cocked his head to the side as he stared at the criminal thoughtfully. "You're not afraid of the Shadow Blades taking over?" he asked with genuine curiosity.

Yngvi scoffed and made a rude hand gesture that, while he didn't understand, still got the gist of as it made Nori and Bofur choke. "Let them try! They ain't the first bastards to start somethin' and they won't be the last! We'll slit their throats and dance in their blood just like the rest of them!"

"Oh for the love of Mahâl—are ya fucking serious?" Bifur rose to his feet, obviously running out of patience for the younger Dwarf. He glared down at Yngvi as if he had just discovered the stupidest person in existence. "I _know_ ya heard of the Shadow Blades, ain't no Dwarrow from the lower castes who hasn't heard of them! And ya just gonna sit back and let those bastards take over Erebor just like they did everywhere else? Worse, ya gonna try to _fight_ them alone?! What the fuck is wrong with ya?!"

Yngvi sneered and leaned back into his cushioned throne. "Fuck off, old timer, you heard what I said. If they try anything here, I'll rip out their throats with my bare hands. Ain't no one taking my territory from me or my brothers and sisters!"

Bifur looked ready to throttle Yngvi. "Ya stupid little punk—!"

Bilbo let out a loud huff and reached up to loop his fingers in the leather belt around the miner's hips. "Bifur sit _down_! Getting angry and yelling isn't helping anything," he ordered, yanking the Dwarf back down to his knees with a grunt of surprise. He then turned back to the Dwarf before them and narrowed his eyes.

"You," he said, pointing a finger at Yngvi, and making him blink a few times and lean back. "I understand your anger for the Blue Iron and the nobles and everyone else who gets to live better than you. Trust me—_I understand_. But this isn't the time to try to get back at the Blue Iron or the higher classes. The Shadow Blades are moving in on Erebor _and_ Dale and they're likely using the One Order to do it. Now unless you want the One Order expanding into _your_ territory and killing _your_ siblings, I suggest you listen to what we have to say."

Yngvi did not look convinced. But, before he could argue further, a soft voice interrupted him. "Yngvi. Stop it."

They all turned to see who had spoken and found a Dwarf walking towards them. It took him a moment, but eventually Bilbo recognized the stranger as the _amlâkul_ who had helped him when he had been injured by the Shadow Blades. She wore a long, light blue gown that looked like rippling water as she moved, and had the same long black braids that Bilbo recalled. When he saw her, Bifur stiffened and leaned back into his seat with obvious surprise.

"Arnina," Yngvi said, his voice softening a tad and his eyes growing wider as the Dwarrowdam came to kneel down next to him. "What—?"

"Listen to what they have to say, Yngvi," Arnina pleaded, lowering her head to Yngvi. "Bifur and his friends can be trusted."

Yngvi stared at her bowed head for a moment before realization dawned on him. "Wait, you mean _this_ is Bifur?" he yelled, pointing to the Dwarf in question._ "He's _the one who—?!"

Arnina nodded once. "Yes. Bifur is the one who saved me from being... attacked by those Dwarrows from the upper levels."

Yngvi clenched his jaw tightly and stared down at the Dwarrowdam as a mix of expressions danced across his face. Finally he settled on one, and looked up to meet Bifur's eyes with a hard set to his eyes. "Then... I owe you a debt, stranger," he said, his voice dropping into a lower tone. "You saved my sister from being taken against her will. I... I have no way of repaying such a gift."

Bifur shrugged and awkwardly scratched at the back of his head. "Ahh, no problem, don't worry about it," he said, obviously uncomfortable. "I could hardly let those fuckers touch her like that. But, Arnina, ya didn't tell me ya brother was _Yngvi_. What the fuck?"

Arnina looked up and gave the Dwarf a small smile. "Perhaps it would be a bit incorrect to call him my brother as we hold no blood ties to one another," she explained, reaching up and pushing some of her braids out of her face. "We simply grew up together and both joined the Crazy Ones so that's why we call each other sibling still. It is really just out of habit than anything else."

"She's also my lover so don't get any ideas," Yngvi added, baring his teeth in a menacing snarl. Bilbo couldn't help but notice that he looked at Nori when he spoke.

Arnina's pale cheeks turned pink, and she smacked the other Dwarf on the arm. "Yngvi! Bifur is _married_!"

"So? The rest of them ain't!"

"Relax, boyo, none of us would make a move on a lass already taken," reassured Bofur, rolling his eyes. He paused and, with a smirk and a side-eye, added, "Well, maybe Nori would..."

"Fuck you. Dori _and_ Bilbo would slaughter me if I even thought of it," Nori deadpanned without hesitation. "Isn't that right, Bilbo?"

"I would push you off the mountain myself," Bilbo agreed cheerfully though that was the farthest thing from the truth. But he could see the game that Bofur was playing and had no problem following along. "Arnina helped hide me. I have a responsibility to keep fast-talking thieves like you away from her."

"Wow, you're such a great friend. It's moments like these that reassure me that following you into the Lead District was the right thing to do," Nori droned, leaning back on his elbows.

Arnina giggled and even Yngvi's lips softening into a more genuine smile. There was a noticeable change in the air thanks to Bofur's humor, and Bilbo mentally praised him for his quick thinking. Bofur's skills at reading people would never fail to surprise him.

"Does this mean ya'll help us?" wondered Bombur, titling his head to the side slightly. "As payment for saving Arnina?"

Yngvi glanced to the Dwarrowdam at his side before giving a grudging nod. "Yeah. Don't got much of a choice now do I? Can't disappoint Arnina. Not when she looks at me like that," he admitted, reaching up to trace Arnina's bottom lip with his thumb. In return, she blushed even deeper and shyly looked away.

"Stop it. Not in front of others," she mumbled, grabbing his wrist and pushing his hand into his lap.

The Dwarf laughed and leaned away from her. "Alright, alright, back to business. So the Blue Iron wants the location of Shadow Blades' den, ehh? Well, hate to break it to yah, but I really don't have any leads. They've been quiet ever since they hit the kingdom back in spring."

Bifur sucked in a quick breath. "They've been here since _spring_? Fuck. That's way too long. They must've been feelin' the place out before they moved in."

"Or the Blue Iron and the forces in Dale have been successful in fighting them back," pointed out Bombur, drumming his fingers against his raised knee in thought. "They obviously don't have as much power here as they did in Ered Luin. This is a good time to strike them."

"Do you know of anyone who could find leads to their location?" Bilbo asked Yngvi.

"Yeah, but you ain't gonna like it," admitted the criminal, raising his brows. "You still wanna hear it?"

"Yes," Bilbo replied promptly. "Now tell me."

"The Forty Diamonds are _very_ good at getting information. If you wanna find anything in this kingdom, yah need to go to them. Double if it's something involvin' the district here," Yngvi advised seriously. "They're the best lead you're gonna get on any possible locations."

Bilbo looked to his friends before nodding firmly. "I see. Then it's off to the north we go," he declared, rising to his feet with the rest and then giving Yngvi a small bow of respect. "Thank you for your help. It is much appreciated."

"Sorry I couldn't be of more help," Yngvi said with what looked like honest remorse on his face. "If yah wait a moment though I can have one of my brothers take you all to the boss of the Forty Diamonds."

"Thanks. That would be helpful," said Bombur, flashing a dimple-smile that made the room feel warmer.

Yngvi shrugged one shoulder as he settled his eyes on the healer before him. "Hey, what'd you say your name is?"

"Bilbo Baggins."

"You're one of those Hobbit things, right?" the criminal pressed with a frown. "Whatta you doing here in a mountain with us Dwarrows anyway?"

Bilbo smirked, and gave the boss of the Crazy Ones a secret wink. "Why, I'm trying to save _my_ brothers and sisters."

* * *

The guide Yngvi assigned to them was a young, energetic Dwarf with short, sandy blond hair that stuck up like the back of a porcupine, and a remarkable ability for talking endlessly without taking a breath. He introduced himself merely as Saksi and was happy enough to lead them through the winding, broken streets that led to the north side of the district. He spent the entire time chattering about a range of subjects that Bilbo gave up trying to follow after five minutes. The only person capable of keeping up with his endless babbling was Bofur, who happily listened and interjected with a wide smile.

Saksi ended up leading them to a large compound that looked out of place in such a rundown district. When he approached the gated wall, he was met by a Dwarrowdam in leather armor and a scowl. They spoke in hushed Khuzdûl before the female huffed and opened the gate. With a grin, Saksi gestured for them to follow him into the compound, and led them into a series of square towers that looked just as out of place as the compound.

Saksi did not stop until he came to a grand entryway with a staircase that was lavishly decorated with smooth marble furniture and exquisite artwork. If he didn't know any better, Bilbo thought that he had just stepped into one of the homes of the nobles in the upper levels. Clearly the Forty Diamonds took their name rather literally.

"Hey, Old Hag! Get your flat ass out here! You got visitors!" Saksi yelled in a sing-song voice as he leaned against the banister of the stairs.

Bifur seemed to choke on nothing but air while Bofur and Nori turned to stare at the young Dwarf with clear shock. Only Bombur remained unfazed as he examined the twinkling cream ceiling above them with interest.

"Um, should you be calling her that?" Bilbo asked, also rather surprised by the Dwarf's rude behavior.

"Yeah, it's fine. Dinna is my sister—that's why Yngvi sent me to bring ya'll here," Saksi said cheerfully, his grin going from ear to ear.

Before Bilbo could ask further on that new development, the sound of heels against the marble alerted them all to a new arrival. Looking up at the top of the staircase, they found a tall Dwarrowdam smoothly making her way down to them. Dressed in a long and elegant blue gown of silk and velvet, Bilbo could only assume he was looking at Dinna the leader of the Forty Diamonds.

Thick and broad shouldered, the boss of the Forty Diamonds was built much like her male counterparts with few curves that would otherwise distinguish her as female. Her face wasn't what Bilbo would call pretty by Dwarven standards, but it was certainly striking with sharp edges and a pair of hooded hazel eyes and thin lips painted a bright red. Her best asset was—as with most Dwarves—her thick, sandy blonde hair that was tied up in a massive bun on her head until it resembled a beehive. As she moved, the diamonds and sapphires woven throughout her hair flashed with light; catching Bilbo by surprise, and reminding him of the spiders that lurked in the darkness of Mirkwood.

"Is she...?" he whispered to Saksi, unsure if he was being offensive or not by asking.

"An _amlâkul_?Nah, just built like a fucking beast," Saksi answered cheerfully before waving to the dam. "Hey, Hag! Long time no see!"

"Gremlin," the Dwarrowdam returned with a cool nod as she came to a stop on the last step where she towered over them all. "What do we owe for this unwanted visit?"

"Brought you a present from Big Brother," Saksi explained, his smile never fading as he bounced closer to his sister. "They came to strike a deal with you or something on behalf of the Blue Iron."

She raised a thin brow and looked over Saksi's head at the group before her. She did not look impressed. "Hmm. We are Dinna the Queen of the Forty Diamonds," she greeted, raising her chin higher. "Who is it that stands before us?"

"Is she fucking serious?" Bifur whispered to Bombur, whose smile had grown even larger and eyes began to twinkle. Bilbo had a feeling he was trying very hard not to burst out laughing. Bilbo could relate. It was rather hard not to laugh at such a dramatic and audacious introduction.

Bofur—with an impressively straight face—stepped forward and introduced them all. When he landed on Nori, Dinna interrupted him. "We know your face. You are Riika's get," she proclaimed calmly, and Nori tensed up like a clam. "How disappointed she must have been when you were not born a girl."

"She got over it," he returned in a monotone, green eyes going murky and dangerous.

Dinna merely blinked and turned her gaze to Bilbo, who was the last person to be introduced. "You are the Hobbit who saved the prince and sent Eikar to prison," she stated without question, meeting Bilbo's eyes and holding his gaze. "You work for the Blue Iron now? How many masters do you serve?"

"Whoever pays the most," he retorted, giving the Dwarrowdam a nasty smile. His opinion of her was growing dangerously low. "Hence why I came here. The Blue Iron wants to find the location of the group known as the Shadow Blades. Can you find them here in the Lead District?"

Dinna cocked her head to the side thoughtfully. "We... could find them for you. Our girls are very good at... persuading others," she admitted, blinking slowly. "But in return, you must do something for us."

Bifur snorted. "What, our charitable act of wiping out a fellow gang isn't enough for ya?" he drawled, arching a brow.

The Dwarrowdam merely stared at him coolly. "Not in this world."

"What's the favor?" Bombur asked before Bifur could open his mouth again.

"To the south of here are the Thuggees. They thrive in the art of disposing of others for payment and, for the most part, had no interest in our own craft or territory," Dinna explained, her demeanor never faltering. "But recently one of their members broke this delicate balance and assaulted one of our girls. She lives but her face has been ruined permanently." Here she narrowed her eyes and, for the first time, Bilbo could see something like emotion in her lowered brows. "We _demand_ retribution for this."

"So what do ya want us to do? Kill him?" Bofur asked, shoving his hands into his pockets and rocking back and forth on his heels.

Dinna slowly shook her head, looking as if she was trying very hard not to overbalance due to her hair. "No. We want you to ask the leader of the Thuggees to give him to us so that we may repay him for his attack."

Bilbo felt that he needed more information before he could agree to such terms. "Why did he attack your member if your groups are on good terms?"

Dinna's pursued her lips until they all but disappeared. "She refused his offer of companionship. In response, he cut up her face so no Dwarrow would ever look at her again. We plan to return his gift by removing his face completely."

Well. He couldn't say _no_ to _that_.

"Do ya think the leader of the Thuggees would allow that?" Bombur asked with his usual polite smile, but there was a hard gleam to his eyes that wasn't there before.

"We do not know. He is fickle and not easy to predict. But we would ask first for his permission before we tempt war by taking one of his," explained the Dwarrowdam, flicking her wrist at them. "Now go and ask him for us. Bring back the criminal and we will find these Shadows for you."

Then, without waiting for a reply, she turned on her heel and ascended the stairs with her dress trailing behind like a veil. They watched her disappear into the complex in silence that was finally broken by Bombur's snickering. Soon he was joined by Bofur and Bifur, and even Nori was chuckling at the dramatics and absurdity of it all.

Bilbo ignored his friends, and turned to Saksi, who still stood nearby with a smile on his face. "Hey, mind taking us to the Thuggee territory? Looks like we got a Dwarf to find."

* * *

The leader of the Thuggee gang was named Ganar and turned out to be a tall Dwarf with wide shoulders and pale face lined with scars. He listened to their request with a stoic face behind a desk made of stone in a circular room with only one entrance, and far too many guards for Bilbo's taste. Two of the guards stood behind Ganar dressed in black leather armor with a red X slashed onto the front. At the end of their explanation, Ganar leaned back into his chair and regarded them without any expression.

"I will need some time to think this over," he said slowly, voice surprisingly soft and light for such a large Dwarf. "Come back tomorrow and I will have your answer."

Bilbo scowled and exchanged a look of unease with Bombur. But, before he could speak up, Nori stepped forward and said, "We're not going anywhere until we speak to the _real_ Ganar."

"Um, Nori? What are ya talkin' about?" Bofur whispered, tugging on the thief's sleeve.

Nori ignored him and continued to stare down Ganar. "I know you're not Ganar. You're his double or bodyguard, maybe, but not the boss of the group."

The Dwarf merely stared back, unfazed. "How do you know?" wondered the supposedly false Ganar.

"A liar always recognizes a fellow liar," Nori explained sweetly, grinning with his canines exposed. "And you keep looking at your friend here too often to be a coincidence. Hence, _you_ are not in charge, and _he_ is."

'Ganar' looked to the guard in question—a young Dwarf with black, slanted eyes, pale skin, and a round face that made him look childlike—who gave the Dwarf a small nod. At his nod, 'Ganar' rose to his feet and stepped back as the young guard stepped forward and removed his helmet.

"Well done. Few people are able to see through my ruse," said the young Dwarf, pushing back his hair as it tumbled out and flashing them all a smile that looked about as real as false gold. Unlike most Dwarves, he wore his hair loose and unbraided and unadorned with any sort of decorative accessory. It fell to his ankles in straight lines and was a dark brown color with tints of red.

"I am Ganar son of Ganin and leader of the Thuggee Band," he introduced, giving an elaborate bow. "Welcome to my home."

"Why do ya hide who ya are?" asked Bifur, his eyes narrowed and shoulders tense

Ganar blinked at him with his brows stretched high. "Isn't it obvious? For protection, of course."

"I don't believe it," Bombur said, slowly looking the younger Dwarf up and down with his lips puckered. "If the leader of an _assassin guild_ is too scared to show his face to others than he would've never lasted a day in training, let alone live long enough to become the leader. So ya must be doing it for another reason."

Ganar smiled and tilted his head to Bombur in acknowledgment. "My, aren't you the clever one?" he cooed. "Do you really want to know that badly?"

"No, we don't," Bilbo interjected, rolling his eyes and pushing himself to the front of the group. "We came here to make a deal with you, not listen to your paranoid antics. Now will you hear us out?"

"Do ya listen to yourself when ya talk?" wondered Bifur, staring down at the Hobbit with a smirk.

"Bilbo Baggins," Ganar acknowledged, turning his unusual but still rather stunning eyes to Bilbo. "You've caused _quite_ a stir with your arrival. Did you know there's a bounty on your head? Five hundred gold coins if brought in alive, three hundred if brought in dead."

"Seriously? From who?" Bofur asked, looking far too interested for Bilbo's taste. When he saw Bilbo's look, he winked at the Hobbit. "Just for future reference, of course."

The leader of the Thuggees shrugged as he leaned back against his table and then hoisted himself up. "Oh, some nobles who chose the wrong side of the game and lost it all. I wouldn't worry about them too much," he said, waving a flippant hand. "Everyone knows you're under the protection of Lord Óin _and_ the Blue Iron. No one would dare touch you even if you were worth five thousand coins."

Bilbo leaned back on his heels, surprised by the news. "Okay, the Blue Iron I can understand but _Óin_? Why would anyone ever fear him?"

"He wasn't always a healer you know. Before his injury, he used to be the King's Wraith," Ganar informed him, swinging his legs back and forth as if he was a child and not the leader of an assassin guild.

Nori sucked in a sharp breath. "The _King's Wraith_? Damn. Even _I_ didn't know about that," he muttered sharing an alarmed look with Bombur.

Bilbo wasn't so impressed mostly because he had no idea what it meant. "What is it?"

"It's a fancy title for the King's personal assassin slash bodyguard," answered Bofur, rubbing his jaw in thought.

"You must be joking," deadpanned the Hobbit, staring up at his friend. "_Óin_ an _assassin_? The guy can't even breathe without making noise. How can someone like _that_ stalk and kill people?"

"That's the point. No one would have ever pegged him as the King's Wraith, which just sets him up for easy targets," pointed out Bifur with a knowing look. "Ya don't have to be quiet to kill someone."

"Well said, Master Bifur," Ganar chirped, grinning with all his teeth displayed. "I'm sure you're _quite_ familiar with that trade yourself, hmm?"

Bifur glowered and pulled his shoulders back until he stood straight and tall. "That's all in the past. I'm just a miner now."

Ganar smiled. "Of course," he said with clear mockery, turning his eyes back to Bilbo. "Down to business then. You've come here today to ask for the release of one of my Dwarrows, correct?"

"Yes. Miss Dinna wants revenge for what he did to one of her girls. From the story she told, I can't say I blame her."

"I'm sure her reasons are just and true," granted the Dwarf with a small nod. "And I am willing to cooperate with you and her. However, in return, I want you to give me an audience with the leader of the Blue Iron."

"Do you know who he is?" Bilbo wondered, surprised by the request.

"I have a good guess but no, not officially," Ganar admitted. "He's been very careful about keeping his identity a secret."

"Why do you want to meet him?"

"Never mind why," Ganar replied, giving a sharp smile that made the hair on his feet stand up. "Just know that a meeting is my price for turning over my subordinate."

"I'll pass your message along but you should know that I can't guarantee he'll agree. He's... not exactly someone I can control," Bilbo said slowly, eyeing the leader of the Thuggees carefully for his reaction.

To his surprise, the Dwarf simply gave a languorous shrug. "That's fine. I had expected as much," he admitted, swinging his legs idly. "I will be satisfied as long as you pass on the message. Deal?"

As if he had a choice. "Deal," he agreed, and hoped (prayer) that Prince Frerin wouldn't mind meeting the young leader of the Thuggees Band.

* * *

Ugh, not gonna lie: this is my _least_ favorite chapter to date. Not because it was hard to write or anything, but because I had to give too much time to the OCs. I _hate_ focusing on anyone but the cannon characters in fics whether I'm reading a story or writing it. So doing a whole chapter with them? Not very fun.

Also, sad news, folks: I'm going back to school and that means no more weekly updates. For now it will be monthly or, if I can swing it, every two weeks. I know this is disappointing but it can't be helped—real life takes priority over hobbies. Damn adult responsibilities.

**Silver pup**


	29. Act II: The Rogue - Chapter Fifteen

Disclaimer: I do not own any familiar characters/settings/plot featured in this story. They all belong to (most likely rolling in his grave) **J.R.R. Tolkien**.

* * *

**A**ct **II**: **T**he **R**ogue

**C**hapter **F**ifteen

* * *

"I don't trust him," Bifur announced after they left the Thuggees behind and headed for the safer districts.

"Who, Ganar?" Bilbo snorted and shook his hair out of his eyes so he could give the Dwarf an obvious eye roll. "_Of course_ he's untrustworthy, look at how we met him! I would trust an _Orc_ before I trusted him to be honest with us."

"Are ya going to set up the meeting for him?" wondered Bofur; eyeing a passing trio of drunk Dwarves as they wandered a bit too close to the group.

"I'll pass along his request but I don't know if his wish will be granted. Probably not if Boss has any sense," the Hobbit mused, thinking it over. "Then again, he may just surprise me and agree to the invite. I guess we'll just have to see."

"Ya best get an answer soon. Ganar won't send his Dwarrow to the Forty Diamonds until his end of the deal is met," Bombur reminded him patiently.

Bilbo nodded, having already realized that. "I'll find a way to see him tomorrow," he promised, gazing around them before coming to a complete halt. When his friends noticed his sudden stop, they also paused, and turned to look at him in mutual confusion.

"What's wrong, Bilbo?" asked Bofur, nudging the Hobbit on the arm with his elbow.

Mutely, Bilbo raised a hand and pointed to what caught his attention, and the group all turned as one to follow his line of sight. When they realized what it was that had caught his attention, there was a noticeable shit in the atmosphere.

"What is that?" Bilbo whispered, unable to look away from the devastating scene before him. "What is _it_?"

"Dead Cat Alley," answered Bifur, shoving his hands into his pockets and carefully looking away from the alley and Bilbo. There was a noticeable tenseness to his shoulders that had not been there a second ago. "It's where the folk here go to die."

He could not believe his ears. "_What_?"

"It's where the sick and fatally wounded go to die if they don't have family to care for them," Bombur explained further, his dark eyes growing hooded and hard until they resembled ebony more than anything else. "It's the only place they can die in peace."

Bilbo felt bile rise to the back of his throat. "Why... _How_ is this allowed? Why isn't anyone _doing _anything?!"

Bofur shifted awkwardly next to him before reaching out to awkwardly pat him on the shoulder. "C'mon, Bilbo, ya seen what kind of place this is. No one here cares what happens to a bunch of beggars and whores," he said quietly. "It's just how things are."

He couldn't believe it. How could anyone look at the ill and injured Dwarves before him and not feel an ounce of horror and compassion? Was Erebor so jaded and cold that they could not offer help to their fellow citizens in need? Were his _friends_ truly so heartless? And what of Thorin? Did he know of the alley that sat at the bottom of his kingdom? Did he even _care_?

"Where are the guards? Why aren't they doing anything?" he asked, staring at a Dwarrowdam with open sores all over her skin that oozed blood and pus. Part of her hair looked to be falling out and he could see a yellow tinge to her skin that spoke of nothing good.

"The guards don't tend to come this deep into the district," Bifur replied, glancing at the alley before quickly looking away. "And even if they did, they wouldn't care. The district is all criminals or descendents of criminals, remember? There's no helping such folk."

Bilbo shook his head and curled his shaking hands into fists. His nails dung into the flesh of his palms but he barely noticed the pain through his whirlpool of thoughts. "This isn't right. You can't just leave people to die like this," he whispered feeling something like fire ignite in the pit of his stomach. "Someone has to do something. I..."

He didn't realize he was moving until a hand curled around his bicep and spun him around. "What are ya doing?" asked Bofur, staring down at him in alarm.

Bilbo snarled and ripped his arm free from the Dwarf. "To help them, _obviously_, since no one else seems to care!"

"Bilbo, some of those Dwarrows are seriously sick. There's no saving them at this point," Bombur reasoned, stepping forward with a frown on his pleasant face. "And, in case ya forgot, we're in the territory of the One Order—not exactly a group we want to annoy, yes?"

"I don't care! I still have to try. I can't just ignore someone in need. It goes against everything I am as a Hobbit _and_ a healer!" he argued, turning on his heel and trying to stomp off again only to be stopped once more. When he looked to see who it was, he found Nori staring at him with swampy green eyes.

"Let go, Nori," he ordered, trying to break the tight hold on his wrist.

Nori didn't budge. "No. You can't do anything for them at this point."

"Like hell I can't!" he argued. "There's still a chance I can save some of them—"

"You don't have time for that, Bilbo!" Nori snapped, interrupting him. He jerked the Hobbit closer and leaned down until they were at eyelevel. "Don't you get it? Now is not the time for your charity acts! We are in the territory of our potential enemies and you have three _very_ _powerful_ groups waiting on _you_ to seal your end of a _very_ important bargain! So no matter how much it hurts you, you need to walk away for now because helping these Dwarrows _cannot_ be the main priority."

"Saving a life should _always_ be a priority," he hissed back, his eyes beginning to water. He jerked his wrist free and quickly turned away so his friends wouldn't see his tears. He held up a hand to his eyes to stem the water works and then forced himself to calm down. Bilbo knew Nori was right, he did, but oh! It was so _hard_ to admit it. Because the deal _did_ come first—his _mission_ was first—and he knew that, he did, but never did he feel _angrier_ about it than at that moment.

When he finally felt his eyes clear of their tears, he scrubbed his face with one hand and turned back around to face the four Dwarves. Bilbo didn't bother to soften his glare as he stared at them with anger and disappointment. To his satisfaction, none of them could meet his eyes let alone face him completely.

_Good. Let them feel the shame and guilt. I refuse to be the only one miserable here_, he thought viciously, lip lifting up into a sneer. "Let's go. Dori is probably worried by now," he ordered, marching off for what looked like the western exit.

The Dwarves trailed behind him like scolded children following a cross mother. Only Bofur had the courage to walk next to him, and even then he couldn't bring himself to look at the healer face on.

"I'm sorry, Bilbo," he said quietly, reaching up to pull his hat down lower over his face.

Bilbo stoically ignored him and marched on. He had more important things to focus on than half-hearted apologies.

_This isn't over yet_, he vowed to himself, heart hardening with resolve. _Not by a long shot_.

* * *

"Welcome back," Dori greeted with a smile when Nori and Bilbo finally returned in the late hours. His pleasant smile quickly dropped when he noticed the dark looks on both of them. "What happened? Did someone get hurt again?"

"No, everyone is fine," Nori replied in a clipped tone as he marched off for his room. "I'm going to bed. Goodnight."

"Goodnight, Nori," Dori replied without looking away from Bilbo. Silently, he watched the Hobbit as he took a seat at the table and buried his face in his hands before quietly setting down the half-complete scarf he was making. "Bilbo, what happened?"

Bilbo took in a deep breath and let it out slowly as he tried to gather his self-control into something reasonable. "I saw Dead Cat Alley for the first time," he eventually said, pressing the heels of his hands harder against his eyes. Maybe if he pushed hard enough, he could press the memory of the dying Dwarves out of his mind. "It was... I can't describe it. It was just too horrible."

"I've never seen the alley myself but I've heard stories of it. It sounds like a sad place," Dori said slowly, his voice even and calm. He took a moment to envy the Dwarf for his composure. Why couldn't he be the same?

"Nori wouldn't let me help any of them. He said I didn't have time to get involved or the safety," he said in a monotone, dropping his hands to the table and looking to the Dwarf sitting at his side. "He was right, of course. If I had stayed, I would've spent the rest of the night trying to help them, and would've drawn attention to myself from the group we're trying to expose. I know he was right, I _do_, but I can't help feeling _wrong_ about leaving them behind like that."

Dori nodded as he folded his hands on the table and stared off in the distance with a distant expression. "Sometimes in life we are forced to choose from two impossible choices," he said calmly, his jade green eyes turning foggy and distant. "Sometimes there is no right or wrong answer to pick from. And sometimes the only choice you can make is the one you can live with."

Bilbo had a feeling that the Dwarf wasn't talking to him anymore so much as he was recalling his own past decisions. "Do you want to know something funny?" he asked sardonically. "I never wanted to be a healer to begin with."

Dori turned to him, blinking away the fog and bring himself back to the present. "Truly? But you're so good at it," he replied, raising an eyebrow.

"Doesn't mean I wanted to do it," he said, dropping his chin onto his cupped hands on the table. "It was a duty I was forced into due to the needs of my clan. My mother was the only healer we had, you see, so when she died it fell to me to take over for her. I've done my job to the best of my abilities, but it's not the path I would have chosen for myself."

"What would you have done then? If you had a choice?"

Bilbo gave him a half-smile that he was sure was as bitter as he felt. "I would've liked to been a scribe like Ori. Studying the ancient history of great empires, learning the tongues of other races, reading every book available to me—it was my greatest wish as a child. Maybe it still is."

Dori's face softened in understanding. "Do you take any pleasure in being a healer?"

"Sometimes. I like being useful and being able to help people," he admitted before letting out a deep sigh. "But other times... It gets tiring. Like today; seeing those Dwarves and walking away from them... it hurt, Dori, it really did. And I think that maybe if I wasn't a healer, if I didn't have this craft, then maybe it wouldn't have hurt so much." Bilbo let out a laugh that sounded fake and broken even to him. "Pretty awful of me, huh?"

Dori shook his head and reached out to take Bilbo's hands into his own. The weaver's hands were twice the size of his own and engulfed Bilbo's like a giant cupping a stone. Looking at their joined hands reminded him sharply of his parents, and how unwavering and strong they had felt in his own. He wasn't surprised to realize that Dori's felt much the same.

"Oh, Bilbo. My dear lad. You are not awful for wishing things were different," the Dwarf whispered, gently squeezing his hands. "We all do it from time to time. Even _I_ have wished that my life had taken a different road at times. Wondering and wishing is normal no matter what our race or age is."

"I'm not going to give up on those Dwarves. I'm going to go back there and figure out a way to help them," he admitted, squeezing back. "No matter how long it takes, I _will _find a way."

Dori gave out a low chuckle that ignited a flash of warmth in Bilbo's chest. "Oh, I have no doubt of that. For now why don't you get some rest? I'm sure you'll have much to do tomorrow."

And for the first time that night, Bilbo let out an honestly happy laugh. "Oh, Dori, you have _no_ idea."

* * *

The next day Bilbo paid a visit to his boss with a plan.

"Rabbit," Óin said in clear surprise when Bilbo popped his head into his office. "What are you doing here? You don't return to work until tomorrow."

"I know," he replied, slinking into the room and closing the door firmly behind him before marching over to the Dwarf. "I came here because I need a favor from you, Óin."

Óin narrowed his eyes and leaned back into his chair. "Oh? What type of favor?"

Bilbo took in a deep breath before letting it out slowly. "I need to borrow your pass to get to the upper levels. I have a message for Prince Frerin that I _must_ deliver today."

Óin stared at him for a long, long moment before letting out a loud and noisy sigh. "You made a deal with him," he stated, slumping forward to prop his elbows on his desk and bury his face in his hands. There was no question to who the 'he' was. "Of course you did. _That's_ what he was bragging about to Thorin. That _brat_."

Bilbo furrowed his brows. "He was bragging to Thorin? Why?"

"Because he's a little shit stain that's why," muttered Óin, massaging his eyes and forehead with his wide palms. Eventually he pulled himself together enough to peer up at Bilbo with a look that he had never seen on his friend before. "Do you know what you're getting into with this?" he asked, blue eyes drilling into him. "Befriending Frerin isn't like befriending Thorin or Kíli or even _me_. Gaining his attention has real consequences. It can be _dangerous_ for you."

Bilbo nearly laughed. "More dangerous than befriending the King of Erebor?" he said, arching his brows.

Óin's gaze didn't waver. "Yes," he stated without doubt. "Thorin's fondness for you is little-well known and, if discovered, would not be seen as anything more than an eccentric whim of royalty. But Frerin is a different matter. If word got out that he likes you—and he does, it seems, if he was willing to brag to Thorin about it—then that is a different, _dangerous _story."

The Hobbit bit his lower lip as alarms began to sound off in his head. Óin was serious it seemed. Serious enough that he believed Bilbo needed to be _warned_. But why? What made Prince Frerin more dangerous than his brother, the most power Dwarf in Erebor?

"Befriending Prince Frerin is dangerous," he mused slowly, studying Óin's face closely for a reaction. "But not Thorin because... he's already powerful. There's no one who would challenge him over it. But Prince Frerin is not and that... make him dangerous? Or rather... it's dangerous to be around him _because _there are powerful people watching him? Is that it?"

"Got it in one, lad." Óin's lips quirked into the mockery of a smile that stretched his face into unnatural angles. "You're right in that. Frerin alone is not a danger to you as long as you don't betray him or hurt someone he loves. But not everyone is so trusting or easy to charm. Some people don't do well with strangers. Some people even hate them."

"In other words, Prince Frerin has someone close to him who won't approve of us becoming friends," he summarized, bracing his hands on his hips and thinking deeply. "Someone with a lot of power and connections. But who...?"

"The _who_ doesn't matter," the Dwarf cut in quickly with a scowl. "Just be aware that they exist and they _will_ hurt you if they deem you dangerous to Frerin or even a threat to their relationship with him. So you need to be careful around him. Do you understand?"

Bilbo nodded solemnly. "I understand," he promised, thinking over Óin's words with care. "I will keep my guard up around the prince's associates. Now may I borrow your pass to meet with him? I promise I'll bring it right back."

Óin gave a small grunt and pulled out his pass from his robes. He tossed it to Bilbo, who caught it with one hand. "By the way, I've been meaning to ask," he said slowly, watching Bilbo stuff his blocky pass into his pocket, "how did you and your friends ever get up to Motvari's place without a pass?"

"Oh, Nori took care of that," he replied airily, trying not to smirk. "He promised the guards a night filled of sweat and moans if they let us in. They agreed, naturally."

Óin raised one brow while his lips began to curl into a smirk. "And did he deliver?"

"Of course," he answered, giving his boss a dramatic look of shock and hurt as he turned to leave. "Took them right to the forge where he works and showed them how to shovel coal. Nori _never_ goes back on a promise you know."

* * *

With time against him, Bilbo went straight to Prince Frerin's manor without stopping. But when he arrived he found the prince out on business at the time. Fortunately his chamberlain was there and promised to deliver Bilbo's message to the prince once he returned home. Hoping that he wasn't being tricked, he passed on the note and then returned to the clinic to give Óin his pass back.

The chamberlain proved to be true as the next day, before he even entered the clinic, Bilbo was stopped by an unknown Dwarf who silently gave him a letter before slipping away. The letter was from Prince Frerin himself who reassured him that he had gotten Bilbo's message, and had sent his own reply to Ganar though he neglected to mention if he agreed to meet with the young Dwarf or not. Relieved either way, Bilbo went into work hoping that the gang leader would honor his agreement with the Hobbit.

Two days later he got his answer.

"Master Baggins, there's a lass here to see you," called one of the guards of the clinic—a Dwarf named Ein who was Bilbo's personal favorite of the guards. "Says someone named Dinna sent her?"

"Thank you, Ein, I'll be right there," he called back before turning his attention back to the child who's arm he was wrapping up. Once done, he gave the small boy a pat on the head, snuck him a cookie while his father wasn't looking, and headed out to meet the stranger waiting for him.

He found her standing out in the lobby of the clinic, gazing up at one of the murals on the ceiling with a curious look on her face. She was dressed in a long, violet dress and a heavy velvet cloak that hung off her broad shoulders nicely. With her wide eyes, round figure, and long dark hair, he wasn't surprised to find most of the guards frozen and staring at the stranger. When he looked closer, Bilbo swore he could even see some drool forming.

_Morons._

"Hello there," he called, catching the stranger's attention and holding it. "Can I help you?"

The Dwarrowdam gave him a sultry smile. "Greetings, Master Baggins," she purred, dipping into an elegant curtsy that was as good as any noble. "I come bearing a letter from my queen. Will you accept it?"

"Is that a trick question?" he wondered, blinking. When the Dwarrowdam gave him a small smirk, he scowled and held out his hand. "Yes, fine, hand it over."

She did as asked. "My queen wishes for me to express her gratitude to you for fulfilling her request," she commented, watching him examine the heavy parchment critically. "Should you ever wish to strike up another deal, we would be more than happy to listen."

"I'll keep that in mind," he promised, giving her a short bow. "Give your queen my thanks. I appreciate her quick assistance in this."

The Dwarrowdam gave him another sultry smile and, with another graceful bow, turned on her way and left. The guards all watched her go with a mix of awe and lust that bordered on ridiculous. Rolling his eyes, he opened the envelop and quickly skimmed the letter inside of it before grinning in triumph. Stuffing it back into the envelop and packing it away in his pocket, he turned around and nearly skipped back to work with a giddiness he had not felt in sometime. All the while the words he had read kept repeating in his mind:

'_The Hidden Enemy is with the Western Traitors. Should you enter, you will find them there._'


	30. Act II: The Rogue - Chapter Sixteen

Disclaimer: I do not own any familiar characters/settings/plot featured in this story. They all belong to (most likely rolling in his grave) **J.R.R. Tolkien**.

* * *

**A**ct **II**: **T**he **R**ogue

**C**hapter **S**ixteen

* * *

Prince Frerin wasn't surprised by the note.

"It was highly likely that they would be hiding with one of the four forces in the Lead District," he explained as he folded up the note Bilbo had delivered to him into what looked like the beginnings of a flower. "The rest of the kingdom is guarded by my people. They had nowhere to go to for help but the bottom."

"What are you going to do to them now?" Bilbo asked, rocking back on his heels as he watched the golden prince lounge on a leather sofa. He looked like a cat basking in the sunlight after catching the farmer's prized hen. "I mean, are you going to capture them or something?"

"Nope. I'm going to wipe them out," answered the prince with a lazy shrug of his shoulders and the smile of a predator. "They're an eyesore and a threat to Erebor's stability. They have to go."

Bilbo frowned as ice settled over his bones. "So you're going to kill_ all_ of them?"

"_Of course_," Prince Frerin said, drawing out the words and blinking his wide blue eyes a few times. "Why? Don't like that plan?"

"I don't like seeing people die even if they deserve it," he admitted quietly, trying not to think of his mother's bruised and bloated face, or how lifeless his father had grown in his last few days. "It's just too sad for me."

Prince Frerin nodded in understanding even as his face remained firm with his conviction. "As a healer I'm sure you've seen a great deal of senseless killings. So if it helps any, my soldiers have orders to make their deaths as quick and clean as possible. It's the only bit of mercy I can afford to show them at this point."

It did help, oddly enough. "Thank you for that," he said, giving a small bow of his head. "I know that these Shadow bastards are hardly innocent and probably don't deserve mercy, but I can't help but wish it for them. I'm afraid that I'm weak that way."

"Your compassion is not a weakness, Master Baggins," Prince Frerin disagreed softly, something undecipherable passing over his face as he stared at the Hobbit. "As long as you don't let it blind you to reason, it can be a powerful tool. Keep that in mind."

For some reason the prince's words brought up the memory of the Dwarves from Dead Cat Alley, and grimly reminded him of his vow to help them. "Speaking of compassion, I came across a disturbing scene in the Lead District: the Dead Cat Alley," he announced, straightening his spine and raising his chin high. "Care to tell me about that?"

Prince Frerin's face dropped slightly in pained guilt before growing composed once more. "I'm sorry you had to see that. It is a tragic place but there is little I can do about it. No matter how many times I clean it out, Dwarrows still return to die. I've given up trying to change it."

Bilbo sneered; completely unmoved and unimpressed. "Then why don't you just build a clinic close to it? At least then the Dwarves who go there would have a chance to survive!"

"We tried that once. The clinic barely lasted a week before it got caught in one of the fights between the syndicates. It caught on fire and burned down—taking with it all the healers who had been trapped inside," the blond reported with a scowl that sharply reminded Bilbo of Thorin. "Since then, no healer has dared to take a step into the district in fear of what could happen again."

"Not even Óin?" he wondered, trying to ignore the strange rise of longing that curled in his chest at the reminder of Thorin. He had not seen the royal liar in some time and Prince Frerin's presence reminded him of it.

Prince Frerin wrinkled his pointy nose. "_Óin_ is forbidden from going down there," he explained, letting out a small huff. "Too many enemies still about who would like nothing more than to slit his throat open."

"Why would—? Oh. Because he was the King's Wraith, huh?"

"He told you about that?"

"No, Ganar did, actually," Bilbo explained, tilting his head to the side in thought. "I didn't believe him at first—because I've actually _met_ Óin you know—but he seemed pretty convinced. From your reaction I'm guessing it's true after all?"

"Correct. Óin was trained from birth to be Thorin's Wraith until he was injured on the job," Prince Frerin recounted, finishing up his paper blossom. "He stepped down after that saying Thorin needed someone more capable, but I think he was just tired of it all." The Dwarf shook his head with a sad smile. "He never did like killing people."

Bilbo wasn't surprised. For all his sour words and grumpy disposition, Óin was really quite softhearted. "Why did he do it then if he didn't like it?" he wondered, tapping his finger against his chin.

Prince Frerin shook his head again and made a sewing motion by his mouth. "Not my place to say I'm afraid. If you really want to know then you'll have to ask him yourself," he said cheerfully, rising to his feet and presenting the flower to Bilbo with a flourish. "Now I think it's time you run along home. And if you could, please try to avoid the Lead District for the next few days. It's going to take some time to clean it up."

Bilbo reluctantly took the, admittedly, beautiful flower. "You're not gonna hurt the other residents down there right," he half-commented and half-questioned.

Prince's Frerin flashed him smile that could have made the meanest bastard bite his tongue. "Not if they stay out of the way," he said sweetly, and then waved Bilbo away with a wink.

* * *

"Dori is going to murder the both of us," Ori complained for the millionth time later that day as he trudged along behind Bilbo. "You remember what he said right? Not to come back here?"

Bilbo rolled his eyes. "And if you remember what _I_ said it was that you're free to go," he reminded the scribe patiently, scanning the dimly lit area carefully. So far they had only come across a few Dwarves but none of them bore the markings of a member from the One Order—a detail that both reassured and alarmed him.

Ori huffed as he snagged Bilbo's sleeve like a child. "As if I could let you come down here alone. That's just asking to get mugged and stabbed," he grumbled.

"Ori, I have nothing of value to be stolen," the Hobbit pointed out, trying to shake off Ori's hold only to fail.

"Medicine is always valuable," the Dwarf argued, shaking his head.

Well, he had to give him that. "They won't know I'm a healer. Not with the way I'm dressed," Bilbo reasoned, gesturing to his attire with his free hand.

Ori didn't look convinced. "You should've asked Nori to come," he whined, eyeing up the decrepit buildings around them with a glint to his green eyes. "He's always good at scaring away creeps."

Bilbo scowled at the reminder of his friend that he was still giving the silent treatment to. "No. I'm still mad at him for being a heartless coward."

"My brother isn't heartless," Ori protested, shaking his head fiercely and making his elaborate braids bounce. Today he had coiled his hair into spirals of braids the wrapped around the back of his head before falling down his back like a waterfall. "He's just... bad at being nice. He's not like you who's nice to everyone."

"He should be. Everyone should be kinder to each other," the healer argued, taking a sharp turn around a corner in hopes of freeing his wrist from Ori only to fail once more.

Ori pouted and was silent for a few minutes before speaking up again. "You know, Bifur mentioned once that it was odd you're so kind all the time considering that you have the most reason not to be," he said, peering up at Bilbo from under his lashes like a curious kitten. "I didn't get it at first but now I do and it makes me wonder too: why _are_ you so positive and nice?"

Bilbo thought about the questioned for a moment before shrugging one shoulder. "It's for a number of reasons with the first being that it's simply part of being a Hobbit," he replied. "After living so long in misery, we've made it a point to always be kind to others no matter how they treat us in turn. It's just proper manners is all. But mostly I'm nice to people because I don't want to live in a world that's only cruel and dark. I want to change it into something better than it is now."

He glanced over his shoulder and flashed the scribe a smile. "That's why I'm going into this dangerous place to help a bunch of strangers at death's door. Get it now?"

Ori stared at him thoughtfully for a long moment before nodding firmly. "Yeah, I get it. That's... a pretty admirable goal to have," he said, grinning with all his teeth exposed. "I like it. I think I'll join you in pursuing it. It's certainly a lot better than Dori's practice of being cold and stoic and Nori's philosophy of being a prick to everyone."

"You really shouldn't take anything Nori does as role model material. That's just commonsense," he pointed out reasonably.

Ori shrugged one shoulder. "So what's the plan when you get to the alley? Just start helping the closest Dwarrow?" he asked, tilting his head to the side.

"Well, yes. I'll examine all of them first and see who needs the most help and then go from there," he explained, patting his satchel of healing supplies.

"What if they don't want your help?" Ori pushed, raising his chin and brows high in a manner that made him look like a miniature Dori.

"Then I will do everything in my power to convince them otherwise. And, if they still refuse, I'll leave them be. I can hardly force someone to accept help."

"Actually you can. There's a law here that gives healers the right to force the sick into clinics," Ori admitted, giving a sheepish grin. "It's mostly used for the ones who are ill in the head and don't know that they need help, but it can be used on other patients too."

"That's... not something I've heard of before," Bilbo said slowly, a bit taken back by the new piece of information. Of all the kingdoms he visited, none of them had ever forced their people to get help. "What a strange law. Is it a common practice with Dwarves? To ignore freewill, I mean."

Ori ran his tongue over his teeth as he considered Bilbo's questions. "Not really. It's a fairly new law that came about when the current king came into power," he explained. "See the last king—King Thrór—had spent his last year overcome by an illness of the mind. It grew so bad that he began to forget who he was and used to wander around the palace aimlessly; lost and confused by everything around him. When his family or the guards tried to help him, he would lash out and order them to leave him alone, and they had no choice but to do so because he was still the King Under the Mountain. That's why when His Majesty took the throne, he passed the law that allowed healers the power to force patients to receive treatment."

Bilbo shook his head; saddened by the tragic tale. "I had no idea Thorin's grandfather suffered so much. That poor soul."

"King Thrór suffered a lot of tragedy in his life," Ori admitted, green eyes growing dim and his mouth turning down at the corners. "He lost his father and younger brother early in life and his only remaining sibling left him to make his own way in the world. Then his first wife and son died together in childbirth, and though his second wife managed to give him two more sons, only one survived to adulthood. Then there was that mess with Lord Grór and Lord Náin before he finally lost his senses and passed away. It was a sad end for a great Dwarrow."

"A very sad life," Bilbo agreed, pity and sympathy worming its way around his heart. "I guess that just goes to show that death doesn't discriminate no matter who you are."

"Have you lost a lot of family, Bilbo?" Ori asked quietly.

Bilbo nodded. "Yes," he said simply, and tried not to think about all the names and faces of the kin he had buried. There were far too many and too little time for him to recall them all.

Ori nodded without surprise. Silently he slid his hand down Bilbo's wrist to his hand and wrapped his soft fingers around Bilbo's comfortingly. This time Bilbo didn't push him away.

* * *

"Wow, this is... this is not what I was expecting," Ori admitted, staring at the alley with his eyes so wide they threatened to pop out of his skull. "You certainly weren't exaggerating when you said they needed help. This is just horrible."

Bilbo nodded grimly as he checked the pulse of an unconscious Dwarf leaning against a broken down wall. "Hence why we're here," he said, mentally counting the beats before turning his attention to the Dwarf's face.

Ori crouched down next to him and watched Bilbo work with a deep look of concentration. "What do you need me to do?"

He pointed to the rest of the alley without looking away from his patient. "Check for more unconscious Dwarves and ones with open injuries," the Hobbit instructed, peeling one of the Dwarf's eyes open to study the color. "Those are the ones who will need to be treated first as they are the ones with the most risk. However don't touch any open wounds or go too close to the ones coughing or sneezing. I don't want you to catch something untreatable."

"Got it." Ori nodded firmly and rose to his feet before spinning on his heel and marching down through the wide alley. Bilbo gave him a fleeting glance before turning back to his patient as he whimpered from unknown pain.

The next few hours crawled by like a slug across a branch. Bilbo lost track of the minutes as he became engrossed in tending to one Dwarf after the other. As Ori had predicted, some tried to refuse his aid but eventually caved when they saw how unrelenting the Hobbit was. Others though easily welcomed the offer of help; crying tears and babbling as they grasped Bilbo's hands with the desperation that came from one who had lost all hope in seeing another tomorrow. Those were the hardest for him to face as they reminded him of some of his more broken family members.

Lost in his job, he failed to notice the Dwarf standing over him until they cleared their throats. Blinking a few times, he looked up and found a familiar face staring down at him with large dark eyes.

"Miss Arnina," he greeted in surprise, leaning back on his haunches to get a clearer view of the Dwarrowdam. "What are you doing here?"

Arnina's lips quirked up into a half-smile even as her brows remained furrowed in obvious confusion. "I think I should be asking _you_ that," she said, shifting her basket of what smelt like meat to rest on her hip. "What are you doing down here, Master Baggins? Don't you know the district is at war right now?"

"Yeah, I heard there was some fighting going on but I still had to come. These Dwarves need help," he explained, turning his attention back to the Dwarf he was currently treating. He had been stabbed in the side and the wound had grown infected. He had managed to stop the bleeding and had sewed up the injury but the ill tumors were going to take more time and luck to tend to.

"Help?" Arnina repeated before her dark eyes widened in understanding. "You're a healer. And you've come to heal the Untouchables?"

Bilbo raised his brows at the unfamiliar term. "Untouchables? What's that?"

"What we call the Dwarrows who wander into this alley to die," she answered, her eyes flickering over the bodies dotted through the area before coming back to rest on Bilbo. "They become Untouchable because they're usually sick with something that no one wants to catch, or they've been injured doing something they shouldn't have been bothering with. Either way, no Dwarrow here wants anything to do with them."

Bilbo scowled in annoyance and had to firmly remind himself that getting angry at Arnina was pointless. It was not her fault that she did not know any better. "I guess it's a good thing I'm not a Dwarf then," he commented with forced lightness. "Now as nice as it was to see you, I have to get back to work now. So if there's nothing else...?"

Arnina shook her head and took a step back before pausing again. Once more her eyes flickered over Bilbo and the Dwarves before coming to a stop on Ori where he sat some distance away helping an old Dwarrowdam drink water he had collected. "I don't understand. Why are you helping them? Are you not afraid of what you might get from touching them?"

Bilbo snorted and shook his hair out of his face as he began to wipe down his feverish patient. "I would be a pretty pathetic healer if I feared my own patients," he commented dryly, trying not to laugh at the thought. "Besides, from what I can see, most of the illnesses here can't be caught just through skin. It would take a lot more than that."

Arnina blinked in obvious surprise. "Oh. I... didn't know that," she admitted, biting her lower lip as she continued to stare down at Bilbo and his patient. He watched as emotions flickered across her face rapidly before settling on a mulish sort of determination. Then, to his surprise, she kneeled down next to him and set her basket to the side and pulled off her frayed olive scarf and began to roll up her sleeves.

"What are you doing?" he asked, furrowing his brows together.

"I'm going to help you," she said as she began to wrap up her long braids with the scarf she had pulled off. "If you are not afraid than I have no reason to fear them either. So tell me what to do."

Bilbo was not convinced. "Really? And what brought on this sudden change of heart after years of ignoring them?" he asked with barely hidden scorn.

Arnina paused in her task and fixed the Hobbit with a look that could have melted the flesh from his bones. "Do not presume to know my past so easily, Master Baggins. Do you think the people here enjoy throwing away our kind? Would that we had a choice we would help them but what help can we give when we cannot even care for ourselves?"

"I have nothing yet I would still try," he argued, raising his jaw stubbornly. "What is your excuse?"

Arnina looked away with a small slump to her shoulders. "Not everyone is blessed with such bravery and brass," she said quietly, staring down at the delirious Dwarf lying halfway in Bilbo's lap. "Nor do we all have the skills needed to help."

Bilbo had nothing to say to that. He didn't really understand what she meant with the first part but he understood her point with the second, and he knew that she was correct—not everyone had a mother to train them as a healer. After a moment of tense silence he cleared his throat and gestured to the Dwarf between them. "If you really want to help then help me in moving him," he said, trying to ignore the sour of taste of guilt rising in the back of his throat. "I need to—what the hell is that noise? Has something bad happened?"

Arnina tilted her head to the side in thought as the sound of muffled horns ringing through the upper levels echoed above them. "I don't think so," she said slowly, staring above them with a look of concentration. "Those sound like the horns of greeting. They are announcing the arrival of our cousins."

"Cousins?" Bilbo repeated, baffled, until his memory kicked in and made his mouth drop open. "Wait, then that means—"

Arnina nodded without breaking her stare as a small smile played at the corner of her lips. "Yes. Lord Dáin has finally arrived to Erebor."

* * *

Annnd that's it for this arc. Now we get to move onto Act III where Bilbo gets to mingle with the upper classes of Erebor. We also get to meet Dáin at long last, his fiancée Lady Hafsa, and see more of the tricky treaty between them. And yes, I'm aware that there are still loose plots from this act that need to be wrapped up and they will be in the next one. They just need more time to simmer.

But first we get a look into the mind of Bifur and what he thinks of all this. I will also be going back and fixing errors, rewriting scenes, and generally cleaning up this story arc before turning my attention to the next one. So if anyone sees any mistakes, feel free to point them out to me! I don't find it offensive but helpful because it narrows down the search for me. :)

**Silver pup**


	31. Interlude II

Disclaimer: I do not own any familiar characters/settings/plot featured in this story. They all belong to (most likely rolling in his grave) **J.R.R. Tolkien**.

* * *

**I**nterlude **II**

* * *

"I still can't believe they're gone," Bifur confessed to Bjarte as he laid out on the ground with his head in his husband's lap. "Feels like a dream."

Bjarte clucked his tongue as he ran his rough fingers through Bifur's hair. "About fucking time. I always hated Herlígur and his stupid group. Good riddance."

"Ya hate anyone who steals Bifur's attention from ya," corrected Bofur, stretched out on the sofa with his boots kicked off and his hat pulled over his eyes. "Ya'd hate Hatice too if she wasn't so cute."

"He's _my_ husband. I'm allowed to be possessive," the blond shot back, tightening his grip on Bifur's hair. "And Hatice is family, ya brat, why would I ever hate her?"

"Don't know. Why'd ya used to glare at me when we were sprogs and I used to hold Bifur's hand?" wondered Bofur, pushing his hat up with two fingers to give him a wide smile. He was always doin' shit like egging Bjarte on.

"Stop taunting him, Bofur, we all know ya only did that to make Bjarte mad," chided Bombur from where he sat sewing up a hole in Bjarte's shirt. He had a pile of clothes next to him and Bifur recognized his trousers among them. He felt a flash of guilt when he realized that Bombur was sewing up their clothes along with the usual loads he did for clients, but he forced it down before it could get to him.

Bombur had been doin' these types of chores all their lives; feeling guilty _now_ was sort of... dumb.

"Do ya think Bilbo will be okay?" wondered Bofur, abruptly changing the subject because he had the fucking attention span of a _gnat_. "He was really upset when he saw Dead Cat Alley. I don't think he's just gonna forget about it."

Bifur scowled at the reminder of their Hobbit friend. "He might just sneak back down and help, the little shit," he admitted, recalling the look in Bilbo's eyes when he had seen Dead Cat Alley. "Better tell the brothers to keep an eye on him."

"I'll mention it to Dori over tea tomorrow," Bombur promised without looking up from his task.

Bifur relaxed a bit but not completely. He didn't know when the little healer snuck under his skin, but he did it, and now Bifur found himself worrying over the runt like he was kin and clan. It was... well, it was strange, because Bilbo was so _different_ from him and what he knew, and he had never been big on outsiders to begin with, but _with_ Bilbo...

He made everything confusing. He forced his way into his life and charmed them all with his persistent kindness. Even more, Bilbo had done something for him that no one before had ever thought possible—he had freed Bifur of the Shadow Blades. It was one of the greatest gifts he had ever received, and Bifur didn't know if he would ever be able to pay it back.

Well, that wasn't quite true. He did have _one_ idea...

"Would ya hate me terribly if I said I wanted to go with him?" he asked Bjarte quietly, and he could see in the blond's face that he understood what Bifur was really asking.

"No, because I rather want to go myself," admitted his husband, giving him the smile that he only ever shared with Bifur. "But I know I'd only be a burden. Ya would put my safety above the mission and that's hardly fair to Bilbo."

"Does that mean I have ya blessing?" he teased, leaning into Bjarte's hand.

Bjarte rolled his eyes. "Bifur, if ya didn't offer than _I_ would've," he retorted, tugging on Bifur's hair teasingly.

He raised his brows in surprise. "Really? But ya _hate_ traveling." That was an understatement. Bjarte turned into a whiny little brat whenever he had to leave the comforts of home for more than a week. Bifur was still amazed he hadn't killed him during their escape to Erebor from Ered Luin.

Bjarte shrugged carelessly. Part of his shirt slipped down his shoulder and revealed the brown skin underneath. Bifur eyed it up in consideration, and made a mental note to leave a mark there later. Bjarte would probably bitch him out for it but it would be worth it. His husband always looked better with love bites.

"Yeah, but I like Bilbo more than I hate traveling so I'd endure it for him," Bjarte explained, giving him a smile while pushing up his shirt. "And I'm pretty sure he's gonna need all the help he can get, ehh?"

Bifur closed his eyes and recalled how pale and young Bilbo had looked when he had gotten injured in the Lead District. He thought of the look in the lad's eyes when he bartered with the three powers of the underworld, and how driven he was to help the people around him no matter the cost. Bilbo needed all the help he could get, yeah, but Bifur would bet his left nut it wouldn't be from the dragon.

"Lad is gonna need an army to keep him safe," he told Bjarte, and leaned closer to his husband as Bjarte laughed and laughed.

* * *

Apologies for the long wait everyone! Classes have been kicking my ass so I had to pretty much put this story on hold. But good news is I'm back and even though this chapter is short, I'm almost done with the next one and it should be up by Thursday.

**Silver pup**


	32. Act III: The Diplomat - Chapter One

Disclaimer: I do not own any familiar characters/settings/plot featured in this story. They all belong to (most likely rolling in his grave) **J.R.R. Tolkien**.

* * *

**A**ct **III**: **T**he **D**iplomat

**C**hapter **O**ne

* * *

It took only three days for Dori to figure out where Bilbo and Ori were slipping off to in the evenings after their jobs were done for the day. To say that he was unimpressed would be a gross understatement.

"Do you have a selective memory?" the Dwarf asked on the fourth night after they returned from their trip to the Lead District. He had his arms crossed over his expansive chest and an expression on his face that said he was seriously considering taking up drinking as a new pastime. "Did nearly bleeding to death down there teach you nothing?"

"I don't understand why you're so surprised by this. You know how seriously I take my job as a healer," Bilbo reminded him patiently as he massaged his left wrist. After using his hands all day, the joints had begun to grow stiff. He had a feeling it wouldn't be long before he was experiencing rheumatism just as his father had. "You really should have seen this coming."

Dori rolled his eyes, and turned to his youngest brother, who sat next to Bilbo trying to muffle a yawn. "And you, Ori? What's your excuse?"

"I didn't want Bilbo going down there alone so I went along," the scribe explained simply, rubbing his eye with two fingers. "But now I'm going back because I like helping the Dwarrows down there. Oh, and Miss Arnina is really nice too. I think we should join her for dinner. You'd really like her, Dori."

Dori gave him a thoughtful look before nodding. "I'll keep that in mind," he promised before looking back to Bilbo. "As for you, how long do you plan to keep this up?"

He shrugged, unconcerned. "Until I leave Erebor I suppose."

"I thought as much." Dori let out a deep breath from his nose and seemed to sag in defeat. "Since you insist on continuing this, you and I will be paying a trip to the Ministry of Vigor tomorrow morning before work. There I will file a request for a clinic to be built in the Lead District, and you will back up my claim as the healer working down there."

Since it was rather late and he had a long day, it took Bilbo a good while to make sense of what he was hearing. "I'm sorry but can you explain that a bit further? Since when do you have the power to make such a request?"

"Every citizen of Erebor has a right to put in a request for more clinics, schools, housing or anything else they feel their district is lacking in," answered Ori before his brother could speak up. He then quickly held up a hand to muffle yet another yawn that interrupted him mid-speech. "The–They're not—ahhh, sorry. They're not always answered, obviously, but the option is still there."

Dori nodded in agreement. "I will put in a request for a clinic to be built in the Lead District on the grounds that there are none available. It may take a good amount of time for it to be considered, and we'll probably have to go back more than once to get it approved, but I believe a center can be built there in time. Once it is there will be funding and healers available. You'll even be able to work there part time instead of on the streets."

Bilbo leaned back into his seat and regarded the weaver before him with a smile. "You've been planning this the whole time," he accused happily.

"Since you came home the first night practically shaking with rage," Dori admitted with an answering smirk. "Keep in mind though that none of this will be easy. There's good reason why no clinic has ever lasted down there."

Bilbo shrugged, uncaring of the dangers or conflicts that could arise. It wasn't as if he hadn't faced the worst of it already in his dealings with the three syndicates of the Lead District. "The good things never are."

"Great. Now that we got all that out of the way, can I go to bed now?" wondered Ori, rising from his chair and pulling off his fingerless gloves.

Dori glanced at the water clock in the corner of the room and gave a nod. "Agreed. It's long past our bedtimes. Go get some sleep and I'll see you both in the morning."

Bilbo and Ori mumbled their farewells and shuffled to their room while Dori went to his own. But when Bilbo opened the door, he stopped short as he found Nori stretched out on Ori's bed. When he saw the duo, he sat up and swung his legs around the side of the bed, and pointed in the direction that his own room sat.

"Ori, go sleep in my bed tonight. I'm gonna sleep here," he ordered, looking over Bilbo's head to give his younger brother a look that warned him not to disobey.

Ori stuck his tongue out at his sibling but didn't argue. "Fine. Night," he said, turning around and walking off with a wave over his shoulder.

Bilbo shot his friend a dirty look but didn't comment on his obvious betrayal. Trying to ignore Nori, he walked over to the corner and proceeded to change into his sleeping shirt. Once decent, he turned his attention to his nest of a bed on the floor, and began to arrange it to his liking.

"So how much longer are you going to pretend I don't exist?" wondered Nori as he braced his elbows on his knees and watched the Hobbit fiddle about.

Bilbo ignored him and began to fluff his pillow.

Nori sighed and dropped his face into his hands. "You know you're making this really hard for me to apologize," he said, his voice slightly muffled by his cupped hands.

"Forgive me but I didn't know you needed me to hold your hand through an apology," the healer retorted tartly.

Nori peeked up at him over his hands. "You know it's hard for me to say I'm sorry," he grumbled, voice still muffled. "I'm really trying here. So can't you just forgive me for being a prick and we can go back to being friends?"

Bilbo had to curb the urge to fling his pillow into Nori's face. "I'm not angry at you for being yourself, Nori," he corrected with a sneer. "I'm angry because you_ knew_ about those Dwarves yet you've done _nothing_ to try and help them!"

Nori dragged his hands up through his hair with a huff. "And what should I have done, Bilbo? In case you've forgotten, _I'm_ not a healer or someone with influence over these sorts of things. There's nothing I can do!" he snapped, digging his hands into the thick strands. "Ugh, you need to get off this self-righteous horse of yours and stop looking down on the rest of us for not being as _kind_ as you! Not all of us can afford to go out helping every poor soul they come across!"

Bilbo jerked back, stung by his friend's sharp words. Nori in turn seemed to realize what he had said because he flinched and dropped his twitchy hands into his lap. "Shit, Bilbo, that wasn't what I meant. I didn't mean to say it like that."

"Yes, you did," he argued, shaking his head which made his curls bounce into his face. "And you're right, in some of it. I _am_ self-righteous and I _can_ be overly critical of others I believe lacking in principles. But it's not something I'm going to apologize for. I don't believe I have any reason to be ashamed for saying what I believe."

"It's not something I want you to change," Nori said, staring down at his hands with his swampy green eyes. "I... It's a good thing, what you say and do. I admire it. I just... I can't measure up to you, Bilbo, I'm just not that good. I'm a heartless asshole who's gonna keep disappointing you."

Bilbo couldn't help but roll his eyes at what he was hearing. "Nori, in the time that we've known each other, I have never seen you do or say anything that could be considered heartless," he said dryly, crossing his arms over his chest and arching his brows. "I mean, the asshole part is true, not going to deny that, but being a prick doesn't automatically make you cruel."

"I don't know. The other day I didn't hold the door open for an old Dwarrow behind me," Nori said, a crooked grin curling at the edge of his lips.

"You fiend," deadpanned Bilbo, lowering his voice to a mocking baritone. "Such evil deeds are unforgivable. I take back everything I just said. You are obviously the spawn of Morgoth."

Nori let out a rusty laugh as he rubbed his face again with one hand. "Smartass," he teased, nudging Bilbo's thigh with his bare foot. "So... now that we talked about our feelings, am I forgiven? Can we go back to speaking again?"

Bilbo rolled his head back in thought. "I don't know. I'm kinda enjoying the silence."

"Liar. You like my stupid remarks."

Bilbo didn't bother to deny it. "If I forgive you, then you need to make things up to me," he commented, giving the thief a firm look. "Tomorrow night you're coming with me and Ori to tend to the Dead Cat Alley folks."

"If I must," granted Nori, rolling his eyes and letting out a deep sigh as if he was doing Bilbo a great favor. "Move over."

Bilbo frowned as the Dwarf stood up and joined him on his frumpy bed. "What are you doing? There's a perfectly good bed right over there," he reminded, pointing to it incase Nori had forgotten what he had been sitting on.

Nori twisted his face into a grimace. "I don't feel comfortable sleeping in a bed while you're on the floor," he explained simply before dropping to his knees next to the Hobbit. "So. Scoot over."

Bilbo sighed as he moved over to the side of the bed. "You're not going to hog all the blankets are you?"

"Only if you kick me in the balls," Nori promised, making himself comfortable on the small and squished bed.

"I only do that with bedmates who snore," he said, laying down and pulling the quilt up to his chin.

Nori snorted as he crossed his arms behind his head. "Never sleep with Dori then. He sounds like a cross between a bear and a cave-in," he revealed with a wicked grin.

Bilbo snickered quietly. "Are you going to blow out the lantern?" he wondered, closing his eyes and allowing his body to finally relax for the first time that day.

He felt Nori hum next to him. "I will before I fall asleep," he promised quietly. "I... Bilbo, are we really okay now?"

He smiled into his pillow while reaching over to pat Nori on the arm. "Yes, Nori. We're okay now."

* * *

The Ministry of Vigor was an ancient and towering building that sat in the very center of the Beryl District on the Fourth Level of the city. It was built out of sterling silver and decorated with pretentious bits of red beryl and ivory carvings of Dwarves performing unknown tasks. Bilbo found it to be a bit gaudy all in all but kept his comment to himself when he saw Dori admiring the red stones.

"I didn't think you liked jewels," he commented as they stood outside the massive doors where the largest cut beryls were mounted. "I've never seen you wear anything but metals and wool."

"I usually don't care for minerals," Dori admitted as he stared up at the stones with a hint of longing in his face. "But I have always found the red beryl to be an exception to this."

Bilbo decided he was in no place to judge taste—his favorite flower was counted among_ weeds_ after all—and merely nodded in acceptance. "Shall we head in then?"

Dori gave the beryls one last look before pushing open the heavy doors with one hand. Bilbo followed and found himself in a massive room filled with well-dressed Dwarves in red robes rushing about. Dori caught one by the elbow and spoke to him quietly in Khuzdûl before releasing the Dwarf to march off into another chamber to the left.

"He went to get the form we need to fill out," Dori explained to Bilbo after the Dwarf had left. "I will fill it out and you can sign it at the end as the acting healer."

Bilbo nodded as he crossed his arms over his chest and observed the bustling room styled with cream and ruby colored stones. "So what does a Ministry of Vigor do exactly?" he asked, leaning back against the colossal pillar behind him.

"They're in charge of seeing to the construction and maintenance of healing centers," Dori explained, also joining him in watching the busy Dwarves. "They also oversee the training of healers and decide where to send them when they're done. I believe they even see to the distribution of food and clean water to the poorer sects of the kingdom, and deal with any plagues that may arise. I'm sure they deal with other issues too but I don't quite recall them all."

"What are the different ministries? Nori mentioned seven but he didn't recall all their titles," Bilbo wondered, watching a Dwarf attempt to carry a stack of books higher than him without running into anyone.

"Well there is Vigor, of course, then Foreign Affairs which you've been to. Then there's the Ministry of Knowledge which is where Ori took his exam, so you've been there too," counted Dori, holding up a hand and listing them with his fingers. "There's also War, Stone, Coin, and finally Law. All of them are located on this level but not in the same district. I believe that the Ministry of Stone is the only other one that shares a space here."

Bilbo nodded slowly as he tried his best to remember all the names. "Those are a lot of branches. Do you know who runs each one?" he questioned.

Dori frowned and ran his tongue over his canines in thought. "Hmm. Well, I know Lord Balin runs the Ministry of War, and of course Lord Eikar ran the Ministry of Stone before his death. I don't think they've selected a replacement for him just yet. Lady Súna is in charge of Foreign Affairs, as I'm sure you recall, and her husband, Lord Glóin, runs the Ministry of Coin. Then there's Lord Rathsin who runs this place—the Ministry of Vigor."

"What about the Ministry of Law and Knowledge?" wondered the Hobbit, glancing at his friend expectantly.

To his surprise, Dori stiffened and refused to meet Bilbo's gaze. "Lord Víggrímur runs the Ministry of Knowledge," he finally said quietly. "Law is run by Lord Kálvur."

Bilbo raised his brows and leaned forward a bit in order to gain a better look at Dori's expressionless face. "Is there something wrong with those two?" he probed, watching the Dwarf closely for a reaction.

Dori remained stubbornly straight-faced. "No. Both are Dwarrows of integrity and honor," he replied, scanning the room in an obvious attempt to avoid Bilbo's stare. "I'm going to check on our appeal. Wait here for me."

Bilbo pursued his lips as he watched the weaver stomp off without another word. He played with the idea of tagging along and bugging Dori for a clear answer, but ultimately decided to let it go. Dori was not like his brothers who, if Bilbo whined enough, would eventually give in and tell him their troubles. Instead Dori was like the stone—solid and unwavering and incapable of opening up without extreme measures. He was better off leaving the subject alone until the Dwarf was ready to talk about it.

"Master Baggins? Is that you?"

Bilbo looked around at the sound of his name, and found himself facing a distantly familiar Dwarf with blond hair and blue eyes. It took him longer than he cared for to realize that he was staring at the Crown Prince of Erebor—Prince Fíli.

"Prince Fíli!" he yelped when he finally made the connection. He pushed himself off the pillar and quickly gave a messy bow. "My apologies for staring! I didn't recognize you at first!"

Prince Fíli smiled widely; revealing two dimples in each cheek and showing off the sharp cut to his jaw. "No apologies needed. I hardly look like a prince right now so your confusion is understandable," he reassured with genuine warmth while gesturing to his appearance. Indeed, the prince was dressed in plain and generic red robes that made him look like any other employee of the Ministry of Vigor. His hair was in a simple topknot and the only jewelry he wore were a plain pair of silver pair of hooped earrings and beard clasps. If the prince had not approached him first, Bilbo would never have noticed him from any other Dwarf in the room.

"How have you been, Master Baggins?" the Crown Prince asked cheerfully, stepping closer to him and lowering his voice a tad. "Have you completely recovered from your injuries?"

"Yes, I'm fine now. Thank you for your concern," Bilbo reassured before biting his lower lip. "Um, may I ask why your highness is here? And in such... different clothes?"

Prince Fíli chuckled and patted his hair subconsciously. "Yes, I suppose I do look rather odd considering my normal attire," he admitted with an easy smile. "But the clothes are necessary for this line of work. I'm performing a secret inspection of the premises. Each ministry is subjected to them at least once a season in order to weed out any irresponsible activities or negligence. Rather boring to be perfectly honest. Most of these places are run by people who are wise enough not to cross my uncle."

"Now which uncle would that be? The lying one or the sneaky one?" wondered Bilbo, rocking back slightly on his heels.

Prince Fíli's smile shifted into a smirk that wouldn't have looked out of place on Prince Kíli. "I'll let you be the judge of that. So what brings _you_ here, Master Baggins?"

Bilbo felt his good cheer melt away as he recalled the reason for his visit to the ministry. "I'm here with a friend to file a request for a healing clinic to be built in the Lead District," he explained simply.

Prince Fíli's smirk didn't waver. "Oh? And what brought this on?"

"I saw Dead Cat Alley," he said, trying not to sound too accusing towards the prince.

To his surprise, Prince Fíli didn't look guilty or ashamed like Prince Frerin had. Instead, he wrinkled his nose like a pup encountering a kitten for the first time. "What's Dead Cat Alley?"

"You... don't know?" Bilbo said slowly, studying the prince carefully.

Prince Fíli simply shook his head. "No. Should I?"

"I... suppose not. Prince Frerin knew of it so I guess I just assumed that you would know too..." he said, thoughts straying to if _Thorin_ knew before cutting them off there. "Well, to put it simply, it is an alley in the Lead District where the Dwarves of that level go to die, or are intentionally left there due to illness or injury."

"That's... illegal," the Crown Prince said slowly, his brow beginning to lower in the same way Thorin's did when he was thinking deeply about something. "They should be taken to clinics to be treated. If not by their families, then at the very least by the guards in charge of that district."

"The guards down there don't go past a certain point on account of how dangerous it is. There are also no clinics down there for any Dwarf to go to."

Prince Fíli shook his head and began to pace. "That isn't right," he muttered, one hand rubbing the hem of his sleeve. "How can there be no clinic? Every level—every _district_—is meant to have at the very_ least_ one clinic. For there to be none..."

Bilbo watched the prince pace and mumble to himself before commenting, "I'm surprised Your Highness cares so strongly about this. Most leaders I've met wouldn't be so enraged."

Prince Fíli swung around to level his blazing blue eyes on Bilbo. "You insult me, Master Baggins," he said, his voice a carefully controlled storm. "I am the Crown Prince of Erebor and future King Under the Mountain. That makes Erebor and all her children _mine_; mine to care for, mine to protect, and mine to guide. That they are suffering without _my_ knowledge... it boils my blood."

Bilbo took a step back and held his hands up to show he meant no harm. "I apologize. I didn't mean to offend you," he said sincerely. "Actually, I'm rather impressed. You have very strong convictions. Most nobles I've met wouldn't even spare a thought for the lower classes."

"My father was born to a lower class. Though he is of the Third Rank now, it does not erase his blood," the Crown Prince revealed, raising his head high and straightening his spine. "He has never allowed my brother nor I to forget where we come from. I am the son of the highest bloodline and the lowest and I am proud of both."

Bilbo felt his respect for the Prince Consort rise a notch. "Your father is an honorable Dwarf."

"Thank you. I have great respect for him and appreciate everything he's sacrificed for my brother and I," the prince admitted, glancing around in distraction before stepping closer to Bilbo and lowering his voice. "Master Baggins, I have to depart now but I would like to continue this conversation at another time. Would you mind coming to the palace in three days time at noon? I will reimburse you for the work you will miss and keep Óin from harassing you."

_Do I have a choice_, Bilbo wondered briefly before nodding his head. "I can do that," he promised.

Prince Fíli's face relaxed back into the easy smile he had worn earlier. "Perfect. I will send a servant to escort you to the palace. Until then, have a good day, Master Baggins."

"You as well, Your Highness," Bilbo returned, and dipped into a brief bow as the Crown Prince turned and left. He watched the blond go and hoped, fleetingly, that whatever the prince had planned would be of help to the Dwarves of the Lead District.

* * *

"Bombur why am I here?" Bilbo asked as he followed Bombur through the stands of the market that evening. It was part of the Copper District and held the best selections when it came to food from Dale and Mirkwood.

"Because I need someone from the surface to help me select the best vegetables," Bombur patiently replied, humming to himself as he swung his basket back and forth.

"What makes you think_ I_ know?" the Hobbit nearly whined.

Bombur laughed and fondly mused Bilbo's hair with his free hand. "Ya a Hobbit, Bilbo, of course ya know about vegetables. It's practically an unspoken rule."

Bilbo pouted and pushed the heavy hand off of his head. "Rude. So rude."

Bombur simply kept smiling as he reached down to exam a beetroot. "So how are the Dwarrows in Dead Cat Alley? Have ya managed to save any?"

Bilbo nearly tripped over his own feet in shock. "How do you know about that?" he asked, grabbing onto the Dwarf's shoulder in order to balance himself.

"Bifur told me," the cook replied, setting the beet back down and picking up a leafy green plant.

"How does _he_ know?"

Bombur sighed and gave the Hobbit the same look a parent would to a very dense child. "Bilbo, who do ya think has been payin' ya protection fee?"

"Protection fee?" he repeated dumbly.

"What, ya thought those thugs were leavin' ya alone out of the goodness of their hearts?" the Dwarf teased, tossing the plant back into the pile.

"Honestly, I thought they just didn't care because I only ever bother with the _Untouchables_," he admitted, wrinkling his nose at the last word.

"A few sick Dwarrows aren't enough to stop the spice users from ya," Bombur warned gently. "The groups down there usually keep them in one place but if one wanders out, there's no tellin' what they'll do."

Bilbo scrunched up his nose in confusion. There was a term he had not heard before. "What are spice users?

"Dwarrows who crush up minerals and smoke it for pleasure. They end up becoming a slave to it and eventually lose their minds," replied the Dwarf as he held up another leafy green vegetable. "Does this look like watercress to ya?"

Bilbo glanced at it and shook his head. "That's garden cress."

"Is it really?" Bombur held the vegetable up to the light for a better look. "Huh. How does it taste?"

"Like water."

Bombur sniffed at the plant and then wrinkled his face. "Well that's not very good now is it?" he said, putting it back and moving onto the next stall.

Bilbo trailed behind, biting his lower lip as he mused over the news of Bifur's involvement. "How much is it costing him? Because I'll pay him back—"

"Don't bother. He won't take it," Bombur interrupted, examining the next stand selling carrots. He held up five fingers to the merchant who muttered something in Khuzdûl. Bombur nodded and handed over a copper coin before selecting his carrots.

"Get the ones on the left. They're sweeter," Bilbo advised after giving the food a quick glance over. "Why won't Bifur accept my money?"

"Pride. And probably guilt too. He felt real bad after that scoldin' ya gave us." Bombur looked over to the healer and gave him an intense look. "We all did, really. But Bifur and Bofur took it real personal like they failed to live up to ya expectations or something. This is Bifur's way of making amends."

Bilbo groaned; torn between annoyance and fondness for his friends. "Why can't I have normal friends react in rational ways?" he grumbled under his breath.

"Funny, I was just thinkin' the same thing about ya the other day," commented Bombur, flashing him a grin.

Bilbo was about to retort when he was interrupted by the sound of horns echoing through the district. He winced at the pitch and instinctively raised his hands to cup his sensitive ears from the noise. In contrast, Bombur lit up with excitement.

"It's the party from Orocarni! Oh let's go take a look!" he cried out in delight, snagging Bilbo's wrist and dragging him along as he forced his way through the crowds. "I've never seen the Dwarrows from there before. I wonder what they look like?"

"Isn't your _wife _from Orocarni?" Bilbo asked dryly, allowing the hearty Dwarf to drag him along.

Bombur shook his head and smacked a passing Dwarf in the face with his braids. "That's different. She was already livin' here when I met her so she didn't look like she came from the east," he explained, failing to notice the Dwarf he had hit via hair.

Bilbo gave the abused Dwarf an apologetic smile before his attention was caught by the huge party of Dwarves entering through the gates into the city. They marched in rows of five with some walking while sat atop strange beasts that he had never seen before. They resembled a cow only smaller with narrower faces and curved horns that extended out to the side. The Dwarves were dressed in dark green and black uniforms with gold breastplates and round helmets with pointed tops and chainmail veils. Others dressed in brightly colored robes that completely covered their heads and hosted the most jewelry he had ever seen on a Dwarf. Some were dressed more plainly with scarce adornments and he could only assume they were servants or hired help. No matter what they wore though, they all boasted the same dark hair and brown complexion as Hamide. But what really caught Bilbo's attention was that some Dwarves were completely beardless.

"Some don't have beards!" he gasped to Bombur, staring at one of the passing warriors in stunned fascination.

Bombur made an agreeing grunt from the back of his throat; looking unfairly unfazed by the sight of Dwarves without beards. "Nope. Dwarrows from Orocarni can shave it off and tattoo their faces instead."

"_Why_?"

Bombur shrugged. "Don't know. Try askin' Ori. I'm sure he'd know."

He nodded slowly, still unable to tear his eyes away from the visiting Dwarves. He was too far to make out the exact details of the tattoos, but what he could see was that they were dark green or blue and only covered half of the face. "Do you think Hamide would tell me why they shave if I ask?"

Bombur hesitated before slowly shaking his head. "Best not to bring it up. She gets very emotional about her old home. I know she misses it a lot but she refuses to go back. I think somethin' bad happened to her there before she was made a slave."

Bilbo frowned as anger and pity welled up inside of him for the fragile Dwarrowdam. "How is she taking this visit and treaty deal then?" he questioned quietly.

"She's ignoring it," the cook admitted with a tired sigh. "Refuses to talk about it and leaves the room whenever the topic comes up. So best not to mention it around her."

H nodded as a large and grand carriage came into view. It was built of dark wood and silver and was being pulled by four of the strange cow-creatures. It was surrounded by soldiers and trailed by servants and through the wide windows, he caught a glimpse of a Dwarrowdam covered in layers of fabric dyed bright blues and yellows. That was all he could see before the white curtains were drawn down to hide her from view.

"That must be Lady Hafsa," he commented to Bombur, pointing to the carriage. "It has the most guards around it."

"I think ya right," Bombur admitted, squinting at the carriage. "It certainly has the most silver to it. Poor dear must be so scared. I've heard she's only just come of age and already gettin' sold off to a foreign kingdom. Poor thing."

"Do you know a lot about Lady Hamide?" the Hobbit asked, his curiosity rising.

"Only the basics," the Dwarf replied, shaking his head. "She's a cousin of the king and the only Dwarrowdam to be born in her family. Her father's the king's uncle and second in command of the kingdom, and her elder brothers are all generals or scholars. I think her dowry is a diamond mine or something."

"Do you think she had any choice in this marriage?" he wondered quietly, recalling Ori's words on the treatment of Dwarrowdams in the kingdom.

Bombur's pained silence was his answer.

Bilbo sighed and turned to make his way back to the market stands. "Didn't think so either."


	33. Act III: The Diplomat - Chapter Two

Disclaimer: I do not own any familiar characters/settings/plot featured in this story. They all belong to (most likely rolling in his grave) **J.R.R. Tolkien**.

* * *

**A**ct **III**: **T**he **D**iplomat

**C**hapter **T**wo

* * *

In hindsight, Bilbo should have expected this outcome.

"Would it make a difference if I said it wasn't me?" he asked Óin as he folded his arms over his chest.

Óin's pinched lips and furrowed brows were answer enough. "A patient is _dead_, Bilbo," he reminded him quietly, "I don't think now is the time for jokes."

"Do you see me laughing?" he retorted, clenching his hands around his elbows. He knew how serious the dilemma was; probably even more so than Óin. A patient—_his_ patient—had died on account of negligence and (supposedly) an incorrect prescription ordered by the Hobbit. Bilbo was calling bullshit on both accounts but knew with a heavy certainty that Óin wasn't going to buy it.

"The diagnosis and prescription were both written in your hand," the old Dwarf said, setting a piece of parchment on the center of his desk for Bilbo to see. He took one look at it and immediately shook his head.

"I didn't write this," he protested, reaching down to tap one finger against the paper. "This isn't even the diagnosis I made—Skafar had Bilious fever, not ague. I told the aids to give him yarrow and elderflower tea to counteract the fever. I would never have prescribed alum because I _know_ he was allergic to it."

"The evidence tells a different story," countered Óin, reaching up to rub his forehead with two fingers. He looked like someone who was in the middle of a thunder storm with no way out.

"Bilbo, I want to believe that this is all a mistake and you didn't make such obvious errors. But the facts line up and I can't ignore that," he said quietly, a sense of finality to his tone. "I'm afraid that I have no choice but to suspend your practice here."

Bilbo's stomach dropped. "Óin..."

"I'll find you another clinic to work at," the older Dwarf continued, steepling his fingers together and peering over them. "It will be on the lower levels and you won't be paid as much as here, but it will be work."

He snorted. "Don't bother. No clinic will hire me with this hanging over my head," he said with bitter certainty.

"Not without my help, no," agreed Óin, nodding. "But the lower clinics are short on healers and they won't turn away anyone under my recommendation. I'll send notice to you once I have it worked out."

Bilbo looked away to stare at one of the massive bookcases in Óin's office. It was built with glass planes to protect it and stood as tall as a Man. Usually he enjoyed looking at it and admiring the many works of knowledge, but the sight of it today made something unpleasant curl in the pit of his stomach. Was it because it was yet another reminder of the class differences between him and Óin? Or perhaps it was because it reminded him that no matter how hard he worked or how many he helped, he was still an outsider to the Dwarves of Erebor.

"Have you told his family yet?" he asked softly, thoughts straying to his (_deceased_) patient's family.

"Who?"

"Skafar. Does his family know that he's...?"

"Not yet," Óin admitted, stroking the end of his beard. "I'm going to tell them this afternoon."

"Can I be there for it?" he asked, recalling that Skafar's sister had recently given birth to a daughter. He had been so excited to finally be an uncle. Now he would never get to know the pleasure. "I must apologize to them for failing to save Skafar."

"As you wish," granted the old Dwarf as he stared at him with sad eyes. "Bilbo... I _am_ truly sorry about all of this."

Bilbo gave a humorless smile that he was sure didn't meet his eyes. "I know you are, Óin. I know you are."

* * *

Skafar's family took the news of his death as he had expected—with great sorrow and rage. His grandfather sobbed as if his entire world had ended. Skafar had been his favorite grandchild. Skafar's younger brother tried his best to appear strong but his shaky fists and watery eyes said it all. Skafar's elder sister actually stepped up and slapped him; a blow Bilbo took without complaint because even though he hadn't killed Skafar himself, he had still failed to protect him in the end.

"We trusted you to care for him," she hissed with an ugly scowl and glassy brown eyes—brown eyes that Skafar had shared. "How could you make such a mistake?! My brother—"

She broke off into a broken shriek that made his heart throb. Her husband quickly stepped up and pulled her back into his arms while whispering into her ear. At his side, Óin stepped forward and gave another bow before having the guards escort them to where Skafar's body laid. Once they were gone, he turned back to Bilbo, and carefully tilted his head to the side to exam his swelling his cheek.

"Are you all right?" he asked, blue eyes dark and somber. "That was quite a blow she gave you."

Bilbo nodded wordlessly and stepped away from the old healer. "I'm fine. This is nothing I can't handle."

Óin frowned, obviously unconvinced. "Still, I think we should—"

"I'm fine, Óin," he interrupted harshly, irritation beginning to chip away at his guilt and grief. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have other things to do today. Like finding a new job. Goodbye."

He stormed off before the old healer could stop him and didn't stop until he was well enough away from the clinic, and almost out of the Amber District. He knew, objectively, that Óin had no choice but to let him go after so many unexplained 'accidents' occurring. But logic didn't lessen the sting that came with being dismissed, and it certainly didn't lighten the load of remorse and sorrow that came with Skafar's death.

Skafar was not the first patient he had lost since coming to Erebor, and nor was he one Bilbo had been particularly close with. But he _was_ the first to die thanks to the bastards seeking to ruin him. The very idea of it all—that Skafar had been used as a _pawn_ against him—made Bilbo want to scream. Skafar had been a good Dwarf who had treated Bilbo fairly and had trusted him with his life and wellbeing. He did not deserve to die just to satisfy the means of another.

Downhearted and broody, Bilbo spent the rest of the day and the next down at the Lead District attending to his patients while waiting for the notice from Óin on his new job. He told none of his friends of his predicament though he had a feeling Dori and Nori were onto him. Then, on the dawn of the second day, he finally received a message from Óin asking for him to come to the clinic. There he found the old healer waiting for him in his office with a strange look on his face.

"Do I want to know why the Crown Prince is asking for your company this afternoon?" he asked as soon as Bilbo closed the door behind him.

"That depends. Do you want to yell at me?" the Hobbit retorted, walking over to stand in front of Óin's large and cluttered desk.

Óin gave him a squinty-eyed glare that made the lines around his face stand out sharper. "What did you do now?"

Bilbo thought about lying for half a second before promptly dismissing the notion. It wasn't as if he could actually keep anything from Óin. "I'm trying to start a clinic in the Lead District," he replied, slipping his hands into his pockets.

Óin stared at him for another moment before leaning back into his chair. "Huh."

Bilbo waited for the inevitable rebuke. When he didn't immediately hear it, he frowned and gestured for the Dwarf to start speaking. "Aren't you going to call me dumb and reckless?"

"Quiet," ordered Óin, beginning to rub the end of his beard with one hand while the other drummed against the arm of his chair. "I'm thinking."

"Don't hurt yourself," he muttered sullenly, rocking back on his heels.

"Have you filed a request yet with the Ministry of Vigor?" Óin asked after a minute of silence.

Bilbo nodded. "Yes. My friend Dori did it for me."

"Mmm. All right!" Óin declared suddenly, smacking the armchair with a firm hit before rising to his feet. "You stay here and wait for your escort. Read one of my books or take a nap. I'll get you when it's time to go."

Bilbo stared at the old healer blankly, unsure of where he was going with such orders. "Your books are all written in Khuzdûl. And your couch is lumpy."

"Sleep in the chair then," retorted Óin, shrugging. "Just don't leave. I don't want to have to hunt you down when the escort arrives for us."

"You're coming too?" he realized, raising his brows. "Why?"

Óin rolled his shoulders back and leveled his steely blue eyes past some point that Bilbo couldn't see. "Because I have a few things to say about this endeavor too."

* * *

The escort arrived promptly at noon and, though confused over the addition of Óin, did not question the added person. He simply nodded in acceptance and led them through the levels and up to the palace. For the third time in his life, Bilbo found himself marveling over the grand architecture and fascinating art that made up the residence of the Royal Family. Óin seemed less impressed and hurried him along to the familiar wing belonging to the Crown Prince.

Prince Fíli was waiting for them in his personal chambers; dressed in splendid robes dyed a dark purple with gold trim and practically dripping diamonds and amethysts. He looked like the heir to the richest kingdom in all the land once more. When he saw Bilbo, he lit up with a bright smile that grew strained when his eyes landed on Óin.

"Thank you for meeting with me, Master Baggins," he greeted with a nod to the Hobbit before meeting Óin's iron stare. "And I see you've tagged along too, Óin. Why am I not surprised?"

The old healer scowled and rudely slammed the door shut behind him. "Shut up. What is this about? Why are _you_ suddenly interested in the Lead District? You've never even _seen_ it before," he growled, stomping over to loom menacingly over the prince.

Prince Fíli though didn't look fazed at all. Bilbo wasn't surprised. When one had a mother like Princess Dís, fear probably didn't get you very far.

"That is _exactly _the problem here," countered the prince, his smile taking on a dangerous edge. "Why did no one tell me that there are no clinics down there? Or that there exists an actual _alleyway_ where Dwarrows go to _die_ in seclusion?"

"Because it's not a problem you can so easily fix, Fíli," Óin snarled, pointing down where the Lead District sat. "That district is filled with criminals and former-prisoners who don't give a rat's ass about anyone. They only care about themselves."

"That's not true!" Bilbo protested, stepping forward and grabbing the attention of both Dwarves. "There are good people down there who are just trying to make the best with what they've been given. They shouldn't be lumped in with the criminals nor do they deserve to suffer for their crimes!"

"Exactly!" Prince Fíli crowed, pointing to the Hobbit. "These people need help and it is my job to provide them with it! That's why I would like Master Baggins here to accompany me down to the Lead District so that I may see for myself how badly my people are suffering."

Bilbo's jaw dropped in shock while Óin's face went white and then red with rage. "Fíli! You are_ not_ going down there!" he nearly roared, looking torn between smacking the prince and having a heart attack. "Do you have any _idea_ to what could happen to you down there?!"

"Yes, I'll finally be getting the truth to how my people are really living!" snapped the blond, opening his arms wide as if to invite said truth to tackle him with its honesty. "Since I obviously can't count on the people I trust _most_ to be frank with me!"

Óin jerked back as if struck and his blue eyes grew wide in the lines of his face. Bilbo decided it was time to calm down and stepped between the two Dwarves with his hands raised in a calming gesture.

"Alright everyone just calm down now," he soothed, looking between the two. "Yelling at each other isn't going to solve anything. Now let's approach this rationally: Prince Fíli wants to see the Lead District for himself, and I agree that he should. However Óin's concerns for your safety are valid—it's very dangerous down there and the only reason _I_ don't get mugged is because I have paid protection. So if we take you down there, then you're going to have to go with a disguise and a guard."

"You're taking Dwalin," Óin immediately declared in a tone that reminded Bilbo of his mother when she had decided on something she didn't want to do. "_And_ you _will_ tell your parents about this yourself."

Prince Fíli rolled his eyes but didn't argue. "Fine. And for a disguise?"

Bilbo slowly looked the prince up and down as his mind went through possible ideas. "Well first you need to lose all that gold and silk," he mused before grinning widely as he came up with a plan. "And how do you feel about dresses?"

* * *

"I can't believe I'm doing this."

"You're welcome to go back to the palace. I'm sure Master Baggins and I will be fine on our own."

"Please don't drag me into this."

"You know your mother is going to stab me in the arm again right?" Dwalin growled as he followed his charge and Bilbo down the jadeite steps that led to the Lead District. "And your father is going to give me one of _those_ looks—the one that makes even _Balin_ feel guilty. Thorin is probably going to punch me in the _face_ and Frerin... Well, he probably won't care because he does this sort of shit _all the time_. Kíli is probably going to ask me to take him next!"

"I'm surprised he didn't visit sooner," Bilbo muttered, exchanging an eye roll with Prince Fíli.

"And why am I in _this_ dress?" the guard demanded, gesturing to his bright periwinkle gown that had been torn and dirtied before being combined with his leather armor. It had lavender lace hems and light pink designs stitched into the bodice. "What was wrong with the blue one?"

"This one matches your eyes better," Prince Fíli replied with an innocent look. He had no reason to complain being dressed in a plain green skirt with rips running up to his thighs and a fluffy black top that hid the protective chainmail underneath. Óin had mixed together some dye that made his blond hair a ruddy brown and left it loose to curl around his elbows. On both of them Bilbo had painted the signet of the Crazy Ones—completing their disguises as members of the gang, and making Bilbo and Óin laugh themselves sick.

Óin was _still_ laughing when they had left.

"I still can't believe I'm doing this," Dwalin muttered, wearing the expression of one who had managed to burn off his own beard and couldn't even get angry because it was his own damn fault. "This isn't what I signed up for when Thorin asked me to protect you. Nowhere in that conversation did he mention playing dress up or sneaking into dangerous districts. _Nowhere_."

"This is sounding more and more like it's not _my_ problem," commented the Crown Prince, casting a snobbish look over his shoulder.

"Oh look we're here," Bilbo interrupted loudly before Dwalin had a chance to reply or maim his charge. Both Dwarves fell silent as they finally came face-to-face with the most dangerous district in the kingdom. Bilbo gave them both a moment to absorb their first look at it all, and watched as the different emotions danced across their faces. He couldn't imagine what was going through their minds at the sight of it all. He had never lived the life of luxury that was their norm and so he couldn't understand what they would feel or even think when confronted by the poorest of lives.

"This... People actually_ live_ here?" Prince Fíli whispered, looking on the verge of tears. His blue eyes practically engulfed his face with how wide they were. For the first time since they met, Bilbo realized that the prince was really quite _young_ underneath all that maturity and confidence. It made him feel a bit more sympathetic to the Dwarf.

"It's... a lot worse than I thought," admitted Dwalin, his face taking on a granite mask that reminded him of Dori when he was upset. "A lot worse than Óin ever said."

"Yes. I imagine he tried to spare you the details of it all," Bilbo agreed, taking a look around and trying to see what they saw. Everything was old and falling apart from the streets to the awkwardly built homes carved out of the mountain. The air smelt stale and thick with urine, old ale, and feces. There weren't many lanterns so the majority of the light came from the mold and minerals in the ceiling and ground which cast a sinister glow to everything. However the streets were fairly clean as far as slums went and there were no wild animals wandering about. There was also no threat of dangerous weather which was very important in his opinion. Out of all the places he had lived in, Bilbo found the Lead District acceptable enough.

"It's not so bad. I've lived in worse," he said cheerfully, trying to lighten the mood. It fell flat as Dwalin and Prince Fíli both swung around to stare at him with mixed expressions.

"What?!" squeaked the prince, his brows fleeing north to hide in his hair. "_How_?!"

"I think the better question is _where_," said Dwalin, looking between Bilbo and the Lead District as if it could provide an answer.

"Well, the slums in Gondor are really the _worst_," the Hobbit explained, wiggling his toes as he recalled the (in)famous city. "It's outside in the open so you're exposed to the elements _all the time_. Most of the homes are really just tents and they sit right next to the pits—that's where they throw away all their garbage and shit—so the smell is awful, and you get sick a lot. The wells are always dirty so you have to boil the water from there if you want to use it. Then there are the animals... I think they're the worst because not only will they try to _eat_ you, but they also carry sicknesses in their bodies that can kill you."

Prince Fíli swallowed slowly as his hands began to shake slightly. "I didn't know... I didn't even _think_..." he trailed off, clenching his hands into tight fists in a futile effort to stop their shaking. Dwalin didn't look any better. He had grown a few shades paler and had adopted a bruised look to his eyes that Bilbo had only ever seen in dogs beaten by their owners. The healer suddenly had the urge to pat him on the head and tell him everything would be alright.

"It's not so bad you know," he said gently, giving the Dwarves a smile. "Certainly could be _a lot_ worse. They could be completely homeless!"

Neither noble looked at all comforted by the idea.

"Where is the alley that you spoke of?" Dwalin asked gruffly, looking away and crossing his arms over his chest.

Bilbo pointed to the south. "It's this way. Follow me."

The subdued duo followed him through the winding streets to the now familiar alleyway. Bilbo noted the suspicious looks they garnered and made a mental note to make the visit as quick as possible. The last thing he needed on his plate was the Crown Prince and Captain of the Royal Guards getting mugged. When they finally did arrive to the alley, he found that it was pretty much how he left it: filled with makeshift shelters and cots with healing patients. He spotted a few friends of Arnina who had volunteered to help, and waved to them in greeting. Then he searched for Arnina and spotted her attending to Bersi and waited until she looked his way to wave her over.

"Oh. There's a lot more Dwarrows here than I expected..." Prince Fíli commented quietly almost to himself.

"Master Healer, welcome back," Arnina greeted as she walked over, smiling gently at the Hobbit while wiping her hands clean on her apron. Her dark eyes glanced fleetingly over the two strangers before returning to Bilbo with obvious curiosity. "I see you've brought... friends?"

Bilbo waved an irrelevant hand at the duo lurking at his shoulder. "Yeah, they're just visiting. Please ignore them. How is everyone, Arnina?"

Arnina raised a brow but silently accepted his answer. "Good. Manni has gotten over his cough and is breathing better now," she reported cheerfully. "Gylta is able to stand but she says her foot still hurts."

"Of course it hurts—it's _broken_," he said dryly, rolling his eyes. "Tell her to sit still or the bones won't set correctly and I'll have to do it all over again."

"You know she won't listen to anyone but Nori. Poor thing is half in love with him," Arnina pointed out.

"Tell her to raise her standards," he advised, making a face at the idea of anyone falling for the _charms_ of his best friend. "Also tell her that if she doesn't listen then I'm tying her down and not letting her up until her foot is _completely_ healed."

Arnina covered her mouth as she giggled. "As you say. Oh, Rúni has a new joke he wants to share with you. Make sure you stop by and listen to it," she said before turning on her heel and fluttering off in a whirl of black braids and yellow skirts.

Once she was gone, Prince Fíli leaned forward and tapped Bilbo on the shoulder until he got his attention. "Hey, that Dwarrow... is she an _amlâkul_?"

Bilbo nodded as he glanced back at the prince. "Yes. Why?"

"Well, I've never seen one before," explained the blond, straining his head to the side to get a better look at the departing Arnina. His expression was open and considering and reminded the Hobbit of a child examining a new type of pet. "She looks... well she's quite pretty isn't she? I wouldn't think she was a Dwarrow in passing."

Dwalin grunted as he too watched Arnina with a narrow eyed look Bilbo didn't care for. "Mmm."

"She's not a Dwarrow she's a Dwarrow_dam_," he corrected, pivoting on his heel so he could face the two head on. He placed his hands on his hips and stared up at the guard in challenge. "And you need to stop looking at her like that, Dwalin, or I'm going to kick you in the balls."

Dwalin crossed his arms over his chest and stared down at the healer with a clenched jaw. "She's _amlâkul_. They're unnatural and that makes them dangerous," he growled, eyes turning into slits of obsidian. Bilbo was suddenly reminded of the first time they met, and how Dwalin had seen him as a threat to his king. It wasn't a very good feeling to recall.

But Bilbo Baggins had never allowed his fear to rule him.

He raised his chin stubbornly and straightened his spine as he held Dwalin's dark gaze firmly. "She's a _person_ just like you and me," he said quietly but firmly. "There is nothing unnatural about her or anyone else like her. All she has done is help me care for the sick and dying—which is far more than anything _you_ have done for them."

Dwalin's face took on a stony look that once more reminded him of Dori when he was truly angry. But before the guard could act on that anger, Prince Fíli reached over and laid a restraining hand on his tense arm.

"Dwalin, he's right," he said softly, blue eyes suddenly a lot darker than before. "We're not here to cause trouble but to help. Besides, look at how tiny she is—how could anyone that frail be a problem?"

The guard said nothing but he did relax a slightly. He glanced down at his charge and gave a nod to whatever unspoken question he had found in Prince Fíli's face. Bilbo took that as a sign of cooperation and began to roll up his sleeves for work.

"I'm going to check over my patients. You two are welcomed to follow me as long as you don't get in the way," he ordered. "Just observe and keep your opinions to yourself. If I hear one negative remark I _will _punch you."

"You're very bossy for someone with no real power behind him," the Crown Prince commented, a hint of a smirk shadowing the corner of his lips.

Bilbo shrugged, accepting the truth for what it was. "I've already threatened Thorin and used him as a stool. What's there left to fear?"

Dwalin snorted but Prince Fíli threw his head back and laughed like he had heard the greatest joke of the century. It came from the very depths of his chest and made his face light up like a roaring fire. Bilbo couldn't help but stare—fascinated and a bit smitten by how beautiful the prince looked when he laughed. Briefly he wondered if Thorin looked the same when he laughed as such, and the idea of it made him flush hotly.

_What's wrong with me?_ he wondered before shaking the fantasy and confusing heat away. He had more important matters to attend to. "Follow me now. And remember—keep your mouths _shut_."

* * *

Dwalin and Prince Fíli managed to keep their comments to themselves for the rest of their visit to the alley. Bilbo was thankful for it because it allowed him to devote most of his attention to his patients. Half of them were slowly on the mend and looked like they would make a full recovery in time. The other half still looked uncertain but Bilbo wasn't discouraged. Until a patient was cold and stiff, he wasn't going to give up on them. Once done with his rounds, he decided it was time to take the two nobles back to the palace as they had been exposed to enough of reality for one day. Bidding Arnina and the rest goodbye, he began the task of escorting the duo though the district and back to the staircase that would lead them home.

"So what do you think of the Dead Cat Alley, Your Highness?" he asked the Crown Prince as he examined the blood under his nails. He was going to have to get Dori to help him clean them again.

"Just call me Fíli, please," said the prince, shaking his head in distaste. "You already refer to my uncle by his name—rather pointless to use titles with me."

The Hobbit grinned, oddly pleased by the admission. "In that case, I must insist that you call me Bilbo."

Fíli returned his grin with a dimpled smile. "Deal. As for the alley... I think that building a clinic would be for the best. Actually, I would like to do a full haul of the whole district from repaving the streets to rooting out the criminals, but that will take more work. For now I will start with the clinic and go from there."

Dwalin snorted, looking oddly amused. "Your mother is gonna _love_ that."

"She'll get used to the idea once I explain it to her," reassured the prince, pushing back his hair from his face. "Father will help too when I tell him. I know he'll think this is a good thing."

"And Frerin?" Dwalin asked, giving the blond a look Bilbo couldn't read.

Fíli paused for a moment in consideration and furrowed his brows before coming to a conclusion. "I'll double-team him with Kíli," he declared with a nod. "And if I must, I'll even go to Uncle Dáin for help."

Dwalin simply snorted again but Fíli didn't look discouraged.

"I also have to say that I was really impressed with what I saw," he said, obviously changing the subject as he turned to Bilbo. "You're a very skilled healer, Bilbo. I see now why Óin kept you."

Bilbo winced a bit at the mention of his (ex) boss but still forced himself to smile in acceptance. "Thank you. My skills are rough at best but I can get the job done."

"Do you like helping people or something?" wondered Dwalin, looking down at the Hobbit with one brow raised. "You helped Thorin in the forest that time without even knowing who he was. Now you're helpin' outcasts and beggars who most of us wouldn't even glance at in the street. Why? Is this a Hobbit thing? To go about doing good deeds and charity acts?"

Bilbo shrugged one shoulder. "I suppose so," he said simply, tired of having to explain to Dwarves why helping another soul wasn't a freak accident but just the decent thing to do. "I wonder the same about you Dwarves sometimes. Is it custom to abandon some of your people to a life of misery just for being born differently?"

Both Dwarves tensed at the question.

"You're referring to the _amlâkul_," Fíli said quietly.

"And others. It's not just the _amlâkul_ who suffer for what they are," the Hobbit explained, ignoring the awkward air growing between the three of them. "There are a lot of other Dwarves who live harsh lives. It makes me wonder how the richest kingdom of all the Dwarven nations could allow such a thing to occur."

Neither Dwarf had an answer for him—or any excuses. Bilbo appreciated that.

"But then again, I wonder the same about the Elves and Men," he continued, hoping up the last few steps to the Ebony District. He turned around to look down at the pair following him, and gave them a small smile. "Maybe it's just my people who treat everyone the same. Probably because we have nothing left _but_ each other."

Fíli gave him an answer smile but it lacked the brilliance it usually held. Bilbo's words had left a mark. "An interesting concept indeed. Maybe your people have the right idea after all. Huh, Dwalin?"

Dwalin grunted as he stared off at something in the distance. His dark eyes looked considering. "A good idea. I know more than a few Dwarrows who could use a lesson in that," he commented, casting a look to his prince that Bilbo couldn't read.

Fíli nodded to the unknown question and turned to Bilbo with a more cheerful look to his face. "Bilbo, would you care to join us tomorrow at noon for a luncheon? Thorin is throwing it to officially welcome Uncle Dáin and Lady Hafsa to Erebor. Most of my family will be there, and you'll be able to meet Uncle Dáin."

Bilbo blinked a few times, taken back by the unexpected invitation. He weighed the idea of it and unsurprisingly found that a large part of him did _not_ want to go—one lunch with Princess Dís was more than enough for this lifetime. But a smaller part of him—the part he always thought of as his survival senses—couldn't turn down the invitation to _free food_.

"My parents and brother would enjoy seeing you again," the prince added, noticing his hesitation. "Even Uncle Frerin would be happy to see you. He thinks you're funny."

"My brother wants to meet you too," Dwalin added grudgingly, wrinkling his nose. "He's been bugging me and Ori to bring you around ever since he heard you used to live with the tree humpers. He thinks it's _interesting_."

Bilbo wasn't sure what to make of that. "Would I... Would I even be allowed? I mean, I'm not exactly family or very important..."

Fíli's blue eyes flickered with a familiar fierceness he had come to associate with Óin. "You are important to my family. You are important to _Thorin_. What more reason do we need?" he asked plainly, holding out his hands.

Well. He could hardly say no after _that_. "I'll come then. Um, should I...?"

"I'll come to get you," Dwalin said, answering his unspoken concern about getting past the guards. "Wait for me outside the clinic a bit before noon. I'll tell Óin so he'll let you leave early."

"Is Óin not going?" he asked, deciding not to mention that Óin wouldn't care because Bilbo didn't work for him anymore.

"No. He'll come to the main events but never the little ones like these," explained Fíli, looking a bit envious. "I think he threatened Thorin into it with bitter medicine."

Bilbo wasn't surprised. "Then I'll wait for you tomorrow before noon," he confirmed, looking to Dwalin. "Thank you for making the trip. I appreciate it."

Dwalin shared a look with Fíli before shooting him a grin that made the hair on his feet rise up. "No, thank _you_ for agreeing to attend," the guard said, patting Bilbo gently on the shoulder as he glided past. "It's going to be _fun_."

* * *

Please forgive Dwalin and Fíli for their remarks/behavior. I couldn't write them to be accepting/tolerant because in this verse they grew up in a very sheltered social class group that had a negative opinion of transgendered dwarves. So of course they're going to reflect those views because what else would they know? However just because they have this mindset now doesn't mean it will remain so. Especially not with Bilbo around to threaten them into opening their eyes or risk losing the family jewels.

**Silver pup**


	34. Act III: The Diplomat - Chapter Three

Disclaimer: I do not own any familiar characters/settings/plot featured in this story. They all belong to (most likely rolling in his grave) **J.R.R. Tolkien**.

* * *

**A**ct **III**: **T**he **D**iplomat

**C**hapter **T**hree

* * *

Bilbo decided to share the news of his invite to the palace with only Dori. He did this partly because he didn't want to cause all his friends unnecessary worry, but mostly because he didn't want to listen to Nori nag him about 'borrowing' expensive items from the palace. Dori, for his part, took the news with a raised brow that said more than words ever could.

"Please don't. I've been thinking it all day," Bilbo said in defense, pulling off his coat and hanging it up next to the door. He walked over to the table that Dori sat at and collapsed in the seat across from him. Then he dropped his head to the table and proceeded to bang his forehead against it a few times in half-hearted hope of maybe knocking some sense into himself.

Dori's judging eyebrow went up another notch. "Do you have anything appropriate to wear to a lunch with the King?" he asked, glancing back down to his knitting.

Bilbo snorted and dragged his head up to rest his chin on the table. "What do _you_ think?"

"You don't want to know what I think. It will only hurt your feelings," the Dwarf replied dryly. "I supposed you can borrow something from Ori. You're around the same size."

"I don't really care about my appearance," he admitted, watching Dori's patient hands pull and swoop the wool into order. "I'm not ashamed of being poor. But I know how those nobles will act if they see me like this. It's kinda sad how predictable they are no matter their race."

"Snobbery is something that transcends all boundaries," acknowledged the weaver with a nod. "Much like stupidity."

Bilbo ignored the jibe. "I'm mostly going for the food. One should never turn down free food," he commented.

Dori hummed and glanced up at him without pausing in his weaving. "Speaking of food, are you still hiding your leftovers in your pockets?"

Bilbo winced. He had hoped no one had noticed that. "Sorry. Childhood habit."

"I'm not scolding you," soothed the Dwarf, shaking his head and making his braids jingle. "I just want you to know that you never have to worry about going hungry with us."

"Thank you, Dori," he said sincerely, feeling a tender warmth spike through him. Dori really was far too good to him. What had he done in a past life to deserve such a friend?

"You're welcome," the weaver said evenly, a small smile pulling at his lips. "Do you have any idea who will be at this gathering tomorrow?"

"Thorin and his family I assume. Lord Dáin and Lady Hafsa too." He strained to remember if Fíli had mentioned anyone else but couldn't recall. "I can't think of anyone else who would be there."

"So all the major powers of Erebor," Dori summed up, looking back down to his work. "Should be quite a sight."

Bilbo couldn't decide if that was a good thing or not. "I think your father might be there too."

Dori nodded calmly. "Most likely. Give him my regards."

Bilbo raised his brows in surprise. "Really?"

"Yes." Dori pursed his lips as his green eyes grew still like the surface of an untouched lake. "I've... thought about what you said and decided... that perhaps it wouldn't be... _too_ horrible to speak with him. As long as he understands that I'm not looking for a father figure in my life."

"I'm sure he'd be more than willing to agree to anything you offer," he pointed out, trying to restrain his grin of glee. "What about his sons?"

"What about them?"

Bilbo rolled his eyes so hard that he nearly got a headache. "Dori, c'mon," he said, sitting up properly and plopping his elbows on the table. "I saw how you treated Dwalin when he stayed with us. You already think of him as your brother."

"Perhaps." Dori's lips grew thinner until they threatened to disappear entirely. "But there's no reason they would think the same."

"You won't know that until you give them a _chance_," he retorted, singing the last word.

Dori finally paused to look up and give the Hobbit a warning look. "Bilbo, enough. I'm giving Fundin a chance. Can we just focus on that for now?"

He held up his hands in surrender. "Alright, alright, I'll back off. So any advice on how I should greet these nobles?"

"Only one—don't trust anyone who is not a Durin."

That was... oddly specific. "Why?"

"Because they'll most likely try to use you for some scheme or another," the Dwarf explained simply, tying off the end of his thread as he finally finished his weaving.

"And you don't think the Durins would?"

Dori sighed deeply, and looked at Bilbo like one would an exceptionally dense child. "Bilbo, King Thorin _likes_ you and all of his family knows it. That means they will accept you and _trust_ you. Once the rest of the nobles see this, they will see _you_ as a chance to get closer to the Royal Family and the King. Understand now?"

"Unfortunately," he admitted, making a face at the realization that he was going to be spending his time playing mind chess. "Ugh, how annoying. I hate these sorts of games where everyone has two faces and hidden agendas. The Elves are always doing this and it used to drive my mother crazy."

"Some people enjoy it," Dori said in the same voice people used when speaking of disruptive and scandalous neighbors. "They like the thrill of outsmarting others and playing people against each other."

"Well I don't. I have better things to do with my time than think up plots to one-up a rival," he said, beginning to list them all in his head before an idea distracted him. "Do you think it's maybe a rich person thing? Since they don't have to worry about food or shelter, they have a lot of free times on their hands, and need something to waste it on?"

"Probably," Dori said, his face clearly saying that you couldn't pay him to care about such struggles. "I imagine being waited on every minute of the day gets boring after awhile."

"It's actually kind of sad now that I think of it. Imagine being so _bored_ that you would waste your time making up imaginary traps for people you dislike."

"A pathetic life indeed," Dori intoned, folding up his finished product—a deep red scarf—and standing to put it away. "Unfortunately you're going to have to learn these skills if you spend more time with the King and his family. All those plots revolve around gaining _their_ favor."

Bilbo imagined spending his time amongst a bunch of snobby Dwarves with false smiles and could actually feel his blood begin to boil. "Dori, I think I made a mistake."

Dori scoffed, and looked at Bilbo like he was the saddest, most pitiful child he had ever seen. "You're only realizing that _now_?"

* * *

The next day came far too quickly for Bilbo's taste and soon enough he was waiting outside the clinic for Dwalin. Dori had made good on his promise and had found him a decent set of Ori's robes to wear—a white piece with brown geometric designs sewed onto the sleeves and hem. They were a bit loose on Bilbo's skinny form and he needed to double tie the sash to keep it from slipping off, but altogether he couldn't complain. It wasn't as if he owned anything as nice or clean.

Dwalin strolled up just before noon as he had promised—dressed in his official Captain of the Royal Guards uniform that made people in the street skitter away. For once Bilbo couldn't help but appreciate that they were in a mountain; being outside in the sun with all that shiny armor would have surely blinded him.

"No dress today?" he said in greeting, standing from his seat on the stairs.

"I'm saving it for a fancier party," Dwalin retorted, sweeping his eyes over the Hobbit. "You look clean for once. I think I can actually breathe through my nose when walking with you."

"Always aiming to please," Bilbo replied, rolling his eyes and walking over to the Dwarf.

Dwalin grinned. "C'mon then. The lunch will be starting soon and I want to get back before all the good wine is gone," he said slyly.

The walk to the palace was a quiet affair and when they finally arrived, Dwalin led them to a section of the palace that Bilbo had never been to before. When they finally came to a stop, it was before a large set of doors made of a pale peach stone with gold handles. Two guards stood at attention on either side and, seeing Dwalin, saluted him before opening the doors.

Before they entered the chambers, Dwalin held out his arm to Bilbo. He looked at it and then up to the Dwarf's face in confusion. "What are you doing?"

"I'm going to escort you in," Dwalin said slowly, giving Bilbo the same look he would give the village idiot.

Bilbo wrinkled his nose. "Why?"

"Because... it's tradition?" offered the guard, shrugging one shoulder.

Bilbo was skeptic but still reached over to take Dwalin's arm. Together they entered the bright chamber crafted out of a strange white stone with silver veins that Bilbo didn't recognize. Like the rest of the palace, it was filled with displays of wealth from the furniture to the pointless decorations in the form of wax displays. Bilbo mentally gagged at the sight of such tackiness but decided not to question the artistic taste of Dwarves. Instead, he focused his time in searching out the free food he had really come to see.

"Where's the food?" he whispered to his escort, straining to see around a servant dressed in emerald green robes.

"In the next room," replied Dwalin, patting his hand in sympathy. "Got to mingle with the family first. Another tradition."

"A _pointless_ tradition," he muttered sullenly.

"I think I see Thorin," Dwalin commented, ignoring his comment. "Let's go see him."

Bilbo didn't have much of a choice as Dwalin dragged him over to the King Under the Mountain. Like Dwalin, Thorin was dressed luxuriously in blue and gold robes with his thick hair done up in braids so elaborate that Dori would have been impressed. He had on a gold crown that made Bilbo wince with how thick it was. He didn't even want to think about how long _that_ could feed his clan. When they grew closer, Dwalin let out a low whistle that caught Thorin's attention, and he quickly dismissed the servant he was speaking with. When he turned to face Dwalin, his somber expression quickly dropped into a surprised one.

"Bilbo! What are _you_ doing here?" he asked, hurrying over to the duo.

"Wow, nice to see you too, Thorin," Bilbo said dryly as Dwalin cackled next to him.

Thorin winced and flashed him a contrite smile. "My apologies. I'm just surprised to see you here. No one mentioned that you would be joining us," he explained, giving Dwalin an accusing glance.

The guard held up a hand to forestall any blame. "Hey, don't look at me. Fíli is the one who invited him."

Thorin's brows began to furrow. "Fíli? Why would he do that?"

"Because I actually _like_ Bilbo's company," answered the prince in question, sashaying up to them with his brother in tow. Fíli was dressed in blue and silver robes with his hair back to its normal blond hue and done up in elaborate braids like Thorin. Prince Kíli, in clear rebellion, had left his hair wild and free to fall around his shoulders like a curtain. His green and gold robes were just as grand as his sibling's but he lacked the same amount of jewelry.

Bilbo gave a short bow to both princes. "Hello, Fíli. Prince Kíli. It's nice to see you again."

Prince Kíli frowned and looked between his brother and Bilbo. "Why do you get to call him by name?" he asked Fíli, poking him in the shoulder. "I want to call Master Boggins by his first name too."

"You just answered your own question with that sentence," mocked Fíli, wiggling his brows.

"You can call me by my first name, Your Highness," Bilbo said before anything could escalate further.

The brunet beamed. "And you can call me Kíli!" he chirped, his smile making Bilbo relax and smile back. "I'm so happy you decided to come. I almost didn't believe Fíli when he told me he invited you."

Fíli gave him a weird look. "Why would I lie about _that_?"

"To mess with your brother's head," Thorin replied dryly, crossing his arms over his chest. "Did everyone know about this but me?"

"Pretty sure my father has no idea he's coming," Dwalin said unhelpfully.

Thorin only shook his head and turned to gaze down at his nephews. "Boys, go find your parents please," he ordered politely, nudging his head in the direction of another set of doors. "Lady Hafsa and her company will be arriving soon and I want everyone here to greet them."

Both brothers rolled their eyes but dutifully followed their uncle's command. With them gone, Thorin then turned to Dwalin and nodded to the arm he still held in his. "I'll escort Bilbo now, Dwalin. You go... hover uselessly over Great-Aunt Óluva. Keep her away from the servants please."

Dwalin nodded, and released the Hobbit as his eyes began to scan the room. "Right. I'll get her something to drink..."

"No wine, Dwalin," Thorin deadpanned.

"I _need_ wine if I'm going to get through today," retorted the guard, raising his nose in the air and marching off.

"Ugh. Useless." Thorin shook his head and looked back to Bilbo and held out his arm. "Well. Shall we?"

Bilbo nodded and slowly wrapped his arm around Thorin's. For some reason it felt... _different_ holding Thorin's arm than it did with Dwalin. It wasn't a bad difference just... odd. Bilbo felt aware of every detail of the Dwarf—from the silky slide of his sleeve to how firm and hard his arm felt under Bilbo's. He even noticed Thorin's _smell_—sandalwood and iron which was the weirdest combination _ever_.

_What the hell is wrong with me?_ he wondered, shaking his head slightly. _It's just_ Thorin. _Snap out of it!_

"You look very nice today," complimented the Dwarf currently confusing him. "I didn't know you owned any Dwarrow robes."

"Oh, they're not mine, really," Bilbo explained, holding up some of the white skirt with two fingers. "I'm just borrowing them from a friend. His brother thought I should wear something _nice_ for the occasion."

"You don't look like you agree."

"I don't really care about my appearance very much."

Thorin snorted and gently reached out to tug on one of Bilbo's wild curls. "Yes, I picked up on that."

Bilbo gave a mock scowl and batted his hand away even as a sweet pleasure rushed through him. Though he didn't care about how he looked, he also couldn't deny that it made him happy that Thorin had complimented him. "Hush you. You're the last person who should be throwing stones about crazy hair," he teased.

Thorin grinned, unashamed, and tossed back some of his braids over his shoulder. "Despite my initial reaction, I _am_ happy you're here, Bilbo. You will make this boring affair much livelier," he said, smiling down at the Hobbit.

Bilbo slowly rose his brows. "Um, okay? I'm not sure how but I'll do my best?"

"Just be yourself," advised the Dwarf, still failing to make any clear sense. "Now come; time to meet the rest of my family."

"Do I have to?" he muttered to himself as he allowed Thorin to lead him to an older Dwarf dressed in black and gray robes. He had long white hair tied up on the back of his head, dark eyes, and a familiar shape to his nose that stood out to Bilbo now that he knew the truth.

"Hello, Lord Fundin," he greeted before Thorin could speak. He gave a short bow to Dori's father and felt Thorin start in surprise.

"Master Hobbit," Lord Fundin greeted back, raising up his glass of wine in salutation. "We meet again."

"Yes, but this time I'm not in chains," he teased, widening his eyes innocently.

Lord Fundin chuckled as he finished a swig of his drink. "That is a good thing from where I'm standing."

Thorin sighed so deeply that Bilbo could hear the air leave his lungs. "Do I even want to know what you two are talking about?" he asked, looking between the two with a face that said he really didn't.

"Nothing but a little misunderstanding, lad," Lord Fundin soothed, giving him a wink. "Don't worry about it."

Bilbo nodded and patted the Dwarf's arm. "That's right. Lord Fundin and I just happen to know the same person. Dori says 'hello' by the way."

Lord Fundin paused. "Ahh... Did he now?"

"Yes." Bilbo looked up at the noble and studied his withered and tired face with its familiar slants and curves, and felt his heart go out to him. "He says that, after much consideration, he wouldn't mind another visit. Maybe one without any yelling or patronizing advice?"

"I will... take that into consideration," Lord Fundin said slowly, closing his eyes and taking in a deep breath. When he opened them again, there was a light to them that wasn't there before.

"Thank you, Master Hobbit," he said sincerely, holding Bilbo's stare for a long moment before looking over to his king. "Thorin, I think see your favorite aunt over there. Why don't you go introduce our young friend here before the rest arrive?"

Thorin scowled but nodded. "I suppose now is a good time as ever. Come, Bilbo."

"We'll speak more on this later, Master Baggins," Lord Fundin promised, giving him a secret smile before Bilbo was whisked away by the king.

"Should I ask what that was about?" Thorin questioned in a low voice once they were far enough away from Lord Fundin.

He shook his head firmly. "No. It's not my secret to share."

"Fair enough," Thorin acknowledged as they came upon a Dwarrowdam dressed in an olive green gown with white fur trimming and more emeralds than he could count. Her gray hair still had a hint of red to it and was decorated with silver chains and amethysts. When she looked up at them, the Hobbit found himself staring at a recognizable face highlighted by moles and hooded hazel eyes.

"Aunt Ábria," Thorin said, giving a strained smile. "Allow me to introduce you to a good friend of mine. This—"

"Bilbo Baggins," said the Dwarrowdam, interrupting him and snapping open a white lace fan in one hand. She began to fan herself while looking the Hobbit up and down. "Really, Thorin, you think I don't know who he is? He's the only Hobbit in the kingdom you know."

"Forgive me. I didn't know if you had heard of him or not."

"I'm old, boy, not dumb," droned Lady Ábria. She gave Bilbo a nod of welcome but nothing more. "Good to finally meet you, Master Baggins. I am Lady Ábria daughter of Turith. I believe that you are acquainted with my sons, yes? Óin and Glóin?"

Bilbo suddenly understood why she looked so familiar. "Y-Yes, my lady," he stuttered, giving her a bow. "I know Óin very well and have met both Lord Glóin and Lady Súna on multiple occasions."

Lady Ábria's face soured. "Ah, yes. The Tin Tart."

Thorin made a noise of disgruntlement in the back of his throat. "Aunt Ábria,_ please_ stop calling her that. She's your daughter by marriage."

"And that erases her blood now does it?" Lady Ábria asked with a poison sweetness, snapping her fan shut with a jerk of her wrist. "Or her occupation as a... _entertainer_?"

"She sang songs on the streets, she didn't sell herself," her nephew corrected, looking like he wanted to roll his eyes but couldn't out of respect for an elder relative. "And why does any of it matter? She has given you a grandson to be proud of. What more do you want from her?"

"A separation would be nice but even _I_ know that won't be happening. Hmp." When Thorin continued to scowl, she rolled her eyes and reached up to bop him on the nose with her fan. "Oh, stop glaring already before your face gets stuck like that. Honestly, how do you ever expect to find a spouse with such expressions?"

Thorin said nothing but his look suggested that he was prepared to die alone. "I think Fundin was looking for you," he lied, his shoulders beginning to tighten up. "I last saw him by the wine."

"Was he? Hmp. What does that old fool want _now_?" she asked before stomping off without another word.

Bilbo could only stare after her in wonder and shock. "What... was that?"

"_That_ is the reason Óin is the way he is today," Thorin answered, reaching up to rub his nose.

Bilbo suddenly understood his former boss a lot better. "I see now why he avoids these get-togethers."

"It's more for our sake than his," the king admitted. "Aunt Ábria and him are a bit _too much_ alike and tend to clash if left together for long periods of time."

"I'm surprised Lord Glóin didn't turn out like that."

"Believe me, he has his moments," the Dwarf corrected, scowling briefly before shaking it away. "But enough of them. Come now and meet one of the guests of honor—my cousin Dáin."

Bilbo followed Thorin as he led him over to a Dwarf standing in front of a massive painting of a giant at a forge. The Dwarf—who he could only assume was Lord Dáin—stood at the same height as Thorin and boasted the same broad shoulders. His waist was a bit leaner though and his hips and thighs thicker than his cousins. His face was round with high cheekbones, a wide forehead, and sharply slanted brows. His blood red hair was curlier than the Dwarves' of Erebor and braided differently with numerous beads plaited in. Even his skin was a few shades darker than Bilbo was used to seeing. But his eyes—slanted like Princess Dís's—were the exact same shade of blue as Thorin's and the rest of the Durin descendents.

"Dáin," Thorin called, catching his attention. "I want to introduce you to a new friend—Bilbo Baggins."

Lord Dáin's slowly raised his brows. "Since when do you have friends?" he asked, his deep voice tainted by an accent that Bilbo had heard through Erebor but could not identify. He had a feeling he had finally found the source in the Iron Hills.

"Around the same time you found a sense of humor," Thorin shot back, lips curling up into a smirk. He looked down to Bilbo and swept out his arm towards the redhead in a grandiose gesture. "Bilbo, meet my cousin Lord Dáin of the Iron Hills."

Bilbo bowed his head in greeting. "Nice to meet you, Lord Dáin."

"Likewise, Master Baggins," returned the Dwarf, giving his own nod. "It's been many years since I've seen a Hobbit. Your people usually don't travel so far east."

"True enough. We prefer to stay to the west where we're from," he acknowledged, wiggling his toes beneath his heavy robes.

"Bilbo has come for a good cause," Thorin added, giving his cousin a look Bilbo couldn't read. "I think you would be interested in hearing of it."

"I'm sure," Lord Dáin commented, looking anything but interested. "It will have to wait though—"

"Dáin!"

The trio turned together at the sudden shout to find Prince Frerin standing at the doorway. He was dressed in light blue and yellow robes and—like Kíli—had left his hair down to cascade about him like threads of gold. He was scanning the room and, when he spotted the Dwarf in question, his face lit up like the rising sun.

"It's about time you got here!" Prince Frerin crowed, hurrying over to them. "I've been waiting for _weeks_!"

"Frerin," Lord Dáin greeted, turning to face the beaming Dwarf as an honest smile crossed his lips. As Bilbo watched, something in the Dwarf's face seemed to... relax and brighten at the same time. As if Lord Dáin was watching something beautiful occur before him for the millionth time, yet still could not help but be blown away by it.

"I'm sorry I didn't get to greet you earlier. I've been very busy with work," Prince Frerin said cheerfully as he threw his arms around Lord Dáin's neck and gave him a hug that would have made a bear proud. "But I knew _you_ wouldn't mind waiting for now to see me! It's been far too long, cousin!"

Lord Dáin said nothing. Instead, he wrapped a tight arm around the prince's waist and cupped the back of his head gently. He then bent down and buried his face in Prince Frerin's hair while tangling the wild curls around his fingers possessively; like a child might do with a favorite toy or blanket. It looked nothing like the sort of hugs that Bilbo had shared with his own cousins during their reunion. In fact, it reminded him more of his parents when one had been gone for too long for work.

"Frerin," he whispered again in a low voice, and the sheer _longing_ in his tone made Bilbo both flinch and flush with embarrassment. Feeling like a voyeur, he looked away and soon realized that he wasn't the only one who noticed Lord Dáin's reaction.

Lord Fundin was drinking again—likely in hopes of drowning out his family. Dwalin was staring up at the ceiling with a long suffering expression of one who didn't understand what he had done to deserve such relatives. Lord Glóin—who he only now noticed—was exchanging furious whispers with his wife. Lady Ábria actually looked bored—like she couldn't be bothered to give a damn. But Thorin, though—Thorin looked to be in deep pain.

"Dáin," he said, the heavy order in it unmistakably clear.

Lord Dáin opened his eyes and stared over Frerin's head at his elder cousin. His blue eyes were hooded and within them lurked something... something wild and calculating and _dangerous_. Stuck by the familiarity of such a look, it took Bilbo a moment to place where he had seen such eyes before—Lady Galadriel. But then he blinked and the look was gone and Lord Dáin was releasing Frerin from his grasp. However he didn't let go completely; instead he kept a possessive hand on the small of Frerin's back as he guided him to a nearby lounge.

"Come, sit with me and tell me how you've been," he said, giving Prince Frerin a charming smile. "Kíli told me of all the work you've been doing. It sounds quite tiring."

Prince Frerin sat down while rolling his eyes. "Sometimes I think you forget who the elder is here," he teased as Lord Dáin took a seat next to him. He skimmed the room and, when his blue eyes landed on Bilbo, he brightened into a dazzling smile.

"Bilbo! How wonderful of you to join us!" he greeted cheerfully, waving the Hobbit over. "Come, sit next to me. Have you met Dáin yet?"

"We met," he reassured, not daring to take the seat and glancing up to meet Lord Dáin's eyes. When he did, he found himself being coolly dissected like a child with an unusual bug.

"Bilbo is my new Hobbit friend and savior," Prince Frerin told Lord Dáin, oblivious to the ice forming in his cousin's eyes. "He saved Kíli _twice_, got rid of that worm Motvari, _and_ stands up to Thorin. He's great, I just love it!"

"A marvelous feat indeed," Lord Dáin deadpanned, looking completely unimpressed. "So is he your new pet then?"

"Dáin, don't be rude," ordered Thorin with a scowl that was harsher than Bilbo had ever seen before.

"Yes, please don't, it's too early for the knives," droned Princess Dís, slinking into the room like a lazy lioness roused from sleep. In one hand she held a crystal goblet of red wine and in the other her husband. Both were dressed in matching outfits of yellow and black with enough blue diamonds to start a small kingdom. Behind them followed their sons who were huddled close together and exchanging whispers.

"Dís," Lord Dáin said, his lips twisting into a sneer that made a scar on his right cheek stand out vividly. "I was under the impression you weren't coming. Something about not approving of this 'farce of a marriage' I believe?"

"I changed my mind once I learned of who would be attending," Princess Dís replied, red lips turning up into a smirk that could have cut through iron. "It wouldn't be right to ignore our Hobbit guest, no?"

All eyes immediately turned to Bilbo. He stared back for a second before deciding that hiding behind Thorin's bulky form was the wisest choice. Thorin, surprisingly, allowed it while giving his family a scolding look. "Leave Bilbo out of your little spats," he ordered, looking between his sister and cousin. "He has nothing to do with this."

"Yes, please don't be mean to my new friend," requested Prince Frerin, tugging on Lord Dáin's arm and capturing his attention. "Bilbo has been of great help to me. Without him, I would be in a lot of trouble right now."

_Wrong thing to say_, Bilbo mused, watching Lord Dáin's shoulders straighten into a sharp line.

"Thorin, I spoke with Lady Hafsa's servant. He says they'll be here within the hour," Prince Vílin suddenly said, catching everyone's attention. Steadily, he looked at the king and then to Bilbo and added, "Perhaps, while we wait, you can show Master Baggins the gallery? I'm sure he would love to see it."

Thorin slowly nodded. "A good idea. Come, Bilbo, its right next door."

Bilbo willingly followed the king to a set of doors to the far left. All the while he could feel the glacier eyes of Lord Dáin tracking his progress. He realized, abruptly, that he finally understood what Óin had meant when he warned him to stay away from Prince Frerin.

_Guess I know now what Dáin would fight Erebor for_, he thought grimly as he left behind the jealous lord and oblivious prince.

* * *

The gallery Thorin ended up leading him to reminded Bilbo more of a memorial than any workshop of art. It was filled with figures of the Seven Fathers and their creator. They were everywhere it seemed—carved into the walls, painted on the ceilings, etched into the marble floor. There were statues of them stationed throughout the room with Mahâl set in the center of it all with his massive hammer and amber eyes. It was an impressive sight for sure but Bilbo couldn't see the point of it all.

"I am sorry for Dáin's behavior," Thorin said as soon as they entered the gallery. "He's usually not so... prickly."

Bilbo shrugged one shoulder as he studied the different maps of mountains etched into the floor. "It's fine. I'm used to dealing with pricks," he commented, making the king snort. "I'm sure he had his... reasons."

"His jealousy is never a good reason," Thorin disagreed, crossing his hands behind his back as he watched the Hobbit. "But I'm afraid he's never been good at sharing Frerin's attention with others."

"I take it they've been close since they were young?" Bilbo wondered, following what looked like an underground highway that connected all the mountains together.

"Yes. We all grew up together but Dáin and Frerin have always been closer than anyone else. Probably why he fell in love with my brother so easily," Thorin admitted, scowling.

Bilbo stopped and looked up in surprsise. "You know—about Dáin and Frerin?"

Thorin snorted. "Of course I do. I have eyes don't I? And even if I didn't, it's not exactly a well-kept secret in the family. _Everyone_ knows Dáin is in love with Frerin—except, of course, Frerin himself."

The Hobbit nearly fell over in shock. He had heard the prince was dense but this was taking it to new levels. "How can he not know? The amount of attention Lord Dáin gives him is obsessive and intense. I think he could set fire to the room with his stares alone!"

Thorin shrugged, holding up his hands to show that he too was amazed by his brother's obliviousness. "Frerin has never been good at recognizing those sorts of things. He assumes it's merely lingering hero-worship from when we were children. Dáin is the youngest and he always looked up to Frerin, you see. I think a part of him still does."

"Have you ever considered telling your brother the truth?"

"No," Thorin declared vehemently, shaking his head and nearly sending his crown to the ground. "I would never encourage a relationship between them."

"Why not? I thought you love Dáin like another brother?" wondered the healer, squatting down to examine what he assumed was Erebor. It had five tunnels leading out from it; two to the east, two to the west, and one heading south.

"I _do_ love him," confirmed the king, his voice losing some of its steel. "He's my favorite relative from the Iron Hills and if I didn't have Fíli and Kíli, he is the only one I would entrust Erebor to. But I love my brother _more_ and it is out of love that I wish to keep them apart."

Bilbo rolled his eyes and then his body so he could sit comfortably on the cold floor. "Okay you're going to have to give me more to work with here if you want me to follow the storyline," he said, smoothing out his robes around him and settling his hands together in his lap. "Now why are you trying to keep them apart? Because of politics? Traditions? Fear?"

Thorin shook his head as he too made himself comfortable against one of the statues. "While their union _would_ be a political mess, it is not my main concern," he explained, blue eyes darkening until they were nearly black. "Dáin... He has a sickness. It is a common sickness that runs though the Line of Durin and affects the mind. Many great kings and princes have been brought down by it, including my grandfather in his later years. Even _I_ have struggled with it and I have even seen it to a lesser extent in my distant relatives. We call it Durin's Bane for it was with him that it all started."

Bilbo leaned forward, fascinated despite the grave undertone to Thorin's words. "What does it do to you?"

"It is... difficult to describe," the Dwarf said slowly, his brows beginning to furrow together. "Some would call it madness but that is too simple a term to use. The best way I can think to describe it would be to call it an obsession. We focus on one thing—power, wealth, war, a certain brand of wine, the options are endless—and become consumed by the desire to posses this one entity entirely. For Durin the Deathless it was preserving his legacy. For my grandfather it was a special jewel called the Arkenstone. For Dáin... it is Frerin."

"Does this obsession make him dangerous then?"

"Somewhat. It's different for everyone and can range from mild to extreme. Dáin has always been able to maintain tight control over it so I don't know how bad it can get for him. But this is only due to the fact that there is no romantic relationship between Frerin and him. If things were to change, I don't know how he would react," Thorin admitted while reaching up to push some of his braids over his shoulder. "_Now_ do you understand my wish to keep them separated?"

"Sort of," he acknowledged, wrapping his hands around his ankles and rubbing the bones in thought. "I understand that you want to protect them both from getting hurt, but I don't think it's really fair of you to make such a decision for your brother. He should be allowed to choose whether or not to pursue a relationship with Dáin."

Thorin snorted, shaking his head. "Bilbo, making decisions for others is my _job_ as the King Under the Mountain," he pointed out, clearly amused. "That includes my family."

Bilbo rolled his eyes but pressed on. "Still, have you ever approached Dáin himself about it? Maybe he has more control over it than you think," he said, gazing up at the Dwarf.

"I'm sure he does," the king agreed with a nod. "But I would still not risk the safety of my only brother on a 'maybe.' For now it is better to simply leave things as they are with Dáin marrying Lady Hafsa."

"But... he doesn't love her," the healer reminded, feeling a twinge of pity for the Dwarf lord. "Doesn't that strike you as sad? To marry someone you don't love?"

Thorin shook his head, obviously unmoved. Bilbo wasn't very surprised. For his friend—a king—making personal sacrifices was just part of the job. "Not all marriages are built on love. Some are built on friendship and mutual understanding," he explained. "I believe that while Dáin may never come to love Lady Hafsa, he will at the very least appreciate her assistance in running his kingdom. Young Thorin is also in need of another parental figure as Dáin cannot always be there for him all the time."

"Young Thorin? Who is that?"

"Dáin's only son and heir. He was born through... other means," Thorin admitted, looking away from the healer, "so he has only ever had Dáin for a parent. Having someone else around will be good for him."

_He's Stoneborn_, Bilbo realized but knew better now than to say anything. "What about Lady Hafsa? I don't think she would want to marry someone who is in love with another."

"While I don't know her personal thoughts on the matter, I assume she is at least accepting of the situation. Otherwise why else would she agree to come?" the Dwarf said logically.

Bilbo wasn't so sure. "Maybe she didn't have a choice," he muttered.

Thorin smiled, looking far too amused. "I take it that you plan to marry for love then?"

"Of course!" he scoffed, raising his chin high. "My parents married for love and they were the happiest couple I knew! I will do the same if given the chance. Wouldn't you?"

"Marriage has never really interested me. Vílin says it's because I haven't met the right person, but I think I'm just not built for it," his friend answered, looking unbothered by the idea. "Besides, marriage usually means children, and any children I have would be a threat to Fíli's claim on the throne, and I could never do that to him."

"You would put your sister's son before your own children?"

"Yes. Fíli and Kíli may not be my sons but I still consider them mine in a sense. It's... a difficult feeling to explain, really. Loving a child so deeply when that child is not even yours. I've been there for them since the beginning and I would give my life to keep them safe and happy. To lose them... I grow cold just from the thought."

"I don't think you have to worry about that. Not as long as you pay attention to what type of stone is being used to build their baths," Bilbo reminded gently with a small grin.

Thorin's let out a huff that tricked into a low chuckle. "I will monitor the selection in person," he vowed, pushing himself off of the statue and walking over to Bilbo. He held out a hand to the Hobbit as he said, "Shall we return to the hall? I'm sure Frerin has managed to calm Dáin down by now."

Bilbo nodded, and took the king's hand and found himself being easily lifted to his feet. He tried to pull free only to find himself stuck as Thorin refused to let go. Instead, he frowned down at the hand in his grip before sliding his own hand up to Bilbo's wrist where he circled his fingers around the delicate bones.

"I did not realize how small you are under all those layers," the king commented, looking up to the Hobbit's face with his brows furrowed. "You come off as... bigger somehow."

"Really? Must be the hair," he teased, tugging his hand free at last.

Thorin titled his head to the side and looked him up and down with a quick glance. "Well," he began slowly with an expression Bilbo couldn't read, "it's certainly something."

* * *

After 34 chapters I figured it was okay to start hinting at Thorin's growing feelings. That's slow burn enough for everyone, right? I mean, he's clearly not in love with Bilbo (yet) but he is interested. This seems like a natural progression right?

Ugh, I'm now remembering why I don't write romances...

Oh, and before anyone starts cringing at the idea of an unneeded love triangle, let me take a moment to reassure you all that it won't be happening. Dáin has no interest in marrying Hafsa and she has no interest in marrying him and, well, that's kind of the problem now isn't it?

I've also obviously expanded on the idea of the gold sickness the dwarves seem to suffer from. I've seen this idea tossed around before in the fandom so it's not exactly new, but I'll do my best to make it original in this verse. Finally, since we never really get an idea of Dáin's personality in cannon, I've taken to modeling him after his numerous relatives and Lady Galadriel. And sorry if he's coming off as such a jerk here but I promise that won't last. He's just being a jealous little twit.

**Silver pup**


	35. Act III: The Diplomat - Chapter Four

Disclaimer: I do not own any familiar characters/settings/plot featured in this story. They all belong to (most likely rolling in his grave) **J.R.R. Tolkien**.

* * *

**A**ct **III**: **T**he **D**iplomat

**C**hapter **F**our

* * *

When Bilbo and Thorin returned to the hall, they found it quieter and filled with the same people they had left behind. Bilbo found his eyes instantly drawn to Prince Frerin—that hair was just too yellow to ignore—who was still sitting with Lord Dáin. The prince looked to be telling a story with a lot of hand gestures that threatened to smack anyone who got too close. Lord Dáin didn't seem to mind and was still staring at Prince Frerin like it was the last time they would ever be together. It was so pathetic that Bilbo felt his earlier fear and annoyance for the Dwarf lord evaporate.

"This is going to be painful to watch," he told Thorin, looking up at the king. "Can I be seated somewhere far away from them? I really don't want to have to see this."

"You can sit next to me. I won't be sitting near Dáin," Thorin promised, staring at his brother and cousin across the hall with his brows furrowed. Bilbo could almost see the thundercloud forming above his head.

He lightly nudged the Dwarf in the ribs with his elbow. "Stop that before you give yourself a headache," he chided quietly. "Glaring at them isn't going to make Lord Dáin's feelings disappear."

"He needs to learn some tact before Lady Hafsa and her party arrive," Thorin replied, looking down at him and losing his brooding-thinking look. "I doubt they will be impressed with him drooling over my brother."

"Do you even _know_ what that word means?" Bilbo wondered, tilting his head to the side.

"Yes. It means everyone keeps their opinions to themselves and don't give me any lip," said the king, his lips beginning to twitch into a smirk. "A lesson _you_ should really indulge in."

"Uh-huh." Bilbo playfully elbowed the Dwarf in the ribs again. "Did your parents ever ask you to run away from home?"

"No, but they did ask my sister."

"Thorin!"

Bilbo looked up to see a short Dwarf dressed in neat but simple gray and purple robes walking up to them. He had fluffy white hair and a messy beard and a friendly face that made Bilbo relax. His dark eyes scanned Bilbo briefly before focusing on the king at his side. "I was wondering where you had gotten to," he said jovially. "But then Dwalin mentioned Dáin and that explained it all."

"Yes, he was being a brat again," Thorin agreed before gesturing to the Hobbit holding onto him. "Balin, allow me to introduce you to Bilbo Baggins. Bilbo, this is Balin son of Fundin and Minister of War."

"Wonderful to finally meet you, Master Baggins," Lord Balin greeted cheerfully, giving a graceful bow to the healer. "I've heard a great deal about you from my brother and cousins."

"All good I hope," Bilbo replied, returning the bow awkwardly.

Dori's elder brother simply smiled wider. "I'm sure it was good from their perspective," he said, black eyes twinkling.

"Balin is Dwalin's elder brother and Fundin's heir," Thorin explained, nodding to the shorter Dwarf. "He's also one of my cousins. We grew up together here in the palace."

"Then you have my sympathies, Lord Balin," Bilbo said to the Dwarf, giving him a remorseful look.

Thorin narrowed his eyes at the Hobbit next to him. "I'm beginning to rethink my promise to let you sit with me."

"You make me sit anywhere _near_ Lord Dáin I'm going back to calling you Corin," the healer warned, pointing at the king.

"Going back...?" Thorin repeated, brows furrowed until the connection finally dawned on him. "You were getting my name wrong on purpose!"

"Of course I was. _Thorin_ isn't _that_ hard to remember," he mocked, deepening his voice when he said the king's name.

"You know I can have you arrested for that. It's a serious crime to disrespect the King Under the Mountain. But since I am a _benevolent_ ruler I will forgive you. Much like how I forgave you for using me as your _personal ladder_."

"Oh, yes, reminding me of the time I was a _moron_ is _very_ benevolent of you."

"I said I was benevolent not vengeful."

Bilbo rolled his eyes and was about to retort when he noticed Lord Balin watching them with wide eyes and a growing smile. "I'm sorry, we're being rude," he apologized, finally recalling his manners.

Lord Balin waved his apology away. "Oh no, don't stop on account of me!" he insisted airily. "I'm enjoying this. I didn't even know of how... _familiar_ you two are with one another."

"Bilbo is very easy to get along with," Thorin explained simply. "Even if he is bad at being respectful to the reigning monarch."

Bilbo gave such an insult the retort it deserved: he stuck his tongue out at the Dwarf.

"Wow, Óin wasn't lying about that no fear trait, huh?" Lord Glóin commented, joining the trio with his wife. They were both dressed in matching colors of teal and white and looked like something out of a storybook. Bilbo didn't think he had ever seen a handsomer couple.

"Hello, Lord Glóin, Lady Súna. It is good to see both of you again," he greeted, giving them the most respectful bow he could just to spite Thorin.

"And you as well, Master Baggins," returned Lady Súna, her lovely face as smooth and expressionless as the last two times they met.

"I hope Dáin didn't scare you too much back there," her husband commented, giving Bilbo an apologetic look. "He's usually not so intense. I think something must've rattled him earlier."

"I'm not frightened," Bilbo answered honestly, giving the redhead a wide smile to show his sincerity. "Thorin explained things so I understand why he acted the way he did."

"Thorin, I'm surprised to see you escorting Master Baggins," Lady Súna commented, staring down at their linked arms. "I thought you would pawn him off to Fíli or Dwalin."

Thorin sniffed and drew himself up. "Bilbo is _my_ friend and guest. It is only natural that _I_ be the one to escort him."

"You didn't even know he was coming until he got here," Lord Glóin reminded, looking unimpressed.

"So? It doesn't make what I said any less true."

The sound of a horn echoed through the palace and made everyone go silent. Before Bilbo could ask what it meant, Thorin sighed and gave his cousins a heavy look. "They're here."

* * *

Bilbo's first impression of the Dwarves of Orocarni was that they were very colorful. Their tunics—which were tighter across the chest and waist and fell to their knees—was a combination of three different colors that should have clashed yet somehow worked together in a flattering way. Their sashes and wraps and robes were just as colorful with twinkling beads and jewels added to the ends. In contrast to their bright outerwear, they wore plain and loose slacks beneath and thinly covered shoes that Bilbo had never seen before.

_They look more comfortable than boots_, he mused, watching as an older Dwarf with graying black hair stepped forward to greet Thorin. He was handsome enough fellow with smooth brown skin, a wide nose, and the same slanted eyes as Hamide but with a turquoise coloring that stood out vividly against his dark skin. He wore his long beard loose and free to his knees while keeping his straight hair tied up under a white turban with gold beads. Dressed in white, red, and gold, he looked every bit as noble as Thorin did.

"Greetings to Thorin II Oakenshield!" the stranger boomed, his voice deep and sweet like honey and tinged with an accent Bilbo had never heard before. "Son of Thráin II, King Under the Mountain, Father of Erebor, King of Durin's Folk! I come with greetings from your brothers across the sand! Will you accept them?"

"I accept them with gratitude and honor," Thorin greeted back, holding his arms open and stepping forward to clasp the stranger on the shoulder with one hand. He leaned down and touched their foreheads together with his eyes closed and, for a moment, they shared the same breath. Then he opened his eyes and pulled back with a final clap to the stranger's shoulder.

"Welcome to my Halls, Grand Vizier Sözen son of Soyer son of Soykan," Thorin said, giving the Dwarf a small but genuine smile. "Be at peace and know that I share with you all that is mine."

The Grand Vizier laughed. "Be careful lest I take from you your greatest treasure," he teased, turning around slightly and holding out a hand to a smaller figure standing at his shoulder. The new stranger stepped forward and took Lord Sözen's hand and allowed him to pull them to his side.

"I now present to you _my_ greatest treasure," Grand Vizier Sözen announced with clear pride and love in his voice. "My only daughter—Lady Hafsa daughter of Hasibe daughter of Handegül."

Lady Hafsa silently bowed to Thorin. When she lifted her head, Bilbo saw that she was a young and pretty Dwarrowdam with full lips, a rather wide and flat nose, and high cheekbones. Her eyes were the same as her father and her loose black curls hung down her back with gold chains and jewels twisted in. She wore a long white, gold, and turquoise gown that covered her from the neck down and clung to her body tightly; highlighting her wide hips and large breasts. Bilbo had a feeling that it wasn't an accident that her gown showed off such assets so clearly.

"Greetings to the King of Durin's Folk," the Dwarrowdam said, her voice soft and sweet like a bird. She stood straight and tall and was staring directly at Thorin's chin as if afraid to meet his eyes. "Thank you for inviting us into your city."

Thorin gave the Dwarrowdam a small smile even as his brows furrowed together. "Be welcome, Lady Hafsa. You are among friends here."

"And soon to be family!" cheered her father, his turquoise eyes turning on Lord Dáin, who stood to the left of Thorin. "Lord Dáin, come forward and meet your bride!"

Lord Dáin smoothly walked forward and gave a graceful bow to both newcomers. "A pleasure to finally meet you, Lady Hafsa," he said, giving the Dwarrowdam a charming smile. Though he looked pleasant and friendly, Bilbo couldn't help but find it lacking. Compared to how he had looked at Prince Frerin earlier, there was no genuine emotion to his eyes or smile.

Lady Hafsa gave her future a husband a stiff smile. "And a pleasure to meet you at last," she replied, staring at Lord Dáin's chest with a strange pinch to her brows.

"Grand Vizier, I would like you to meet my sister's son and Crown Prince of Erebor," Thorin said suddenly, nudging Fíli forward and moving his body to allow Lord Dáin to step behind him. Fíli easily obeyed and stepped forward to give a graceful bow and the charming smile he shared with his brother.

"Fíli son of Vílin," he introduced warmly, his dimples on clear view. "I'm so happy to finally meet you, Grand Vizier Sözen. My grandfather has spoken very highly of you."

"I'm sure he exaggerated most of it," Grand Vizier Sözen returned just as cheerfully, patting Fíli on the shoulder in the same manner an uncle would with a favorite nephew. "But thank you for the compliment. You have a very handsome lad here, Majesty. I'm sure he will make an impressive king."

"A feat I cannot claim ownership of," Thorin said dryly, turning to Princess Dís who stood to the right of Fíli. She was still holding her goblet of wine and looked distinctively unimpressed with what was before her.

The Grand Vizier followed Thorin's gaze and stared at the princess for a moment before a smile split his face from ear to ear. "Princess Dís! I did not even recognize you there! My, how you have grown!" he boomed, moving over to take the princess's free hand into his and pressing his forehead to the top of it. When he looked back up, his eyes were shining with unshed tears.

"You are the splitting image of your mother, Mahâl rest her soul," he said, giving her hand a squeeze before releasing them. "She was the best of ladies and the wisest of wives."

Princess Dís raised a slender brow as the corner of her lips twitched. "Thank you," she said simply before taking a sip of her wine. To her left, Prince Vílin sighed and shook his head.

Grand Vizier Sözen beamed and moved onto Prince Frerin, who was trying to hide behind his siblings. As he pulled the blond prince out for another loud welcoming, Bilbo looked up at Dwalin, who stood with him in the very back of the group of nobles.

"How much longer is this going to last? I want to eat," he said impatiently, tapping one of his feet.

Dwalin shrugged, staring off at the far wall with a bored look on his face. "Depends how long introductions go," he said, hands crossed in front of him. "The Vizier has to meet all of the Royal Family before introducing his family. Then he gets to meet the rest of us lesser nobles. Finally, after that, we get to eat."

Bilbo groaned as his shoulders dropped. "I should've come late," he muttered, shoving his hands into the pockets of the robe. To his surprise, he found a piece of writing charcoal in one of them, and when he pulled it out to examine, he realized it was one of Ori's drawing instruments.

"Hey, wanna play 'Gallows' why we wait?" he asked Dwalin, wagging the charcoal at the guard.

"On what?" deadpanned the Dwarf, looking pointedly around the vast chamber that housed only furniture and wine.

Bilbo sat down on the cold floor and folded his legs under him. "Right here," he said, patting the smooth marble floor before him.

Dwalin still looked skeptic. "Will it come off this stone?"

"Yeah, it's only ash." Bilbo proved this by making a black mark on the tile and then smoothly wiping it away with his hand. He held up his black hand as proof of his success. "See? Completely clean."

Dwalin stared at him for another moment, looked up at the group in front of them, and then finally shrugged and sat down in front of the Hobbit. "Fine, but I'm going first."

They played two rounds (with Dwalin winning one and Bilbo winning the other) and were well into the third when they were interrupted by a soft cough. "Thorin is coming," warned Lord Fundin, staring forward and smiling blandly. They both quickly rose to their feet and Bilbo wiped away evidence of their match with his feet while Dwalin stood in front of him to hide what he was doing. By the time Thorin had gotten to them, there was nothing left but a black smear.

"—this is Dwalin son of Fundin and Captain of the Royal Guards," Thorin said to the Grand Vizier, gesturing to his cousin, who gave a perfect salute to the Grand Vizier.

"Another fine son, Lord Fundin. You must be proud," complimented the Vizier, giving Lord Fundin a wink.

Lord Fundin bowed his head modestly. "They make me very proud."

Grand Vizier Sözen laughed as he looked beyond Dwalin and met Bilbo's eyes. He blinked a few times before his eyes widened dramatically and his mouth fell open in shock. Next to him, Lady Hafsa and another Dwarf—dressed in bright green and yellow with straight black hair—also spotted the Hobbit, and they too froze and went wide-eyed.

"I see you've noticed Bilbo," commented Thorin, smiling as he reached over and tugged the Hobbit out from behind Dwalin. "Grand Vizier Sözen, this is Bilbo Baggins—a Hobbit who is visiting our kingdom and sharing with us his talents as a healer."

"A... Hobbit?" Lady Hafsa repeated so softly that Bilbo almost didn't hear it.

"A _Hobbit_? But I thought they were extinct!" cried out the Dwarf next to her, looking between Bilbo and Thorin.

"No, we're... quite alive," replied the healer, awkwardly scratching at the back of his knee with his heel.

"By Mahâl's Blessing, I never thought I would meet a Hobbit in this lifetime," breathed the Grand Vizier, his turquoise eyes slowly tracking over Bilbo's frame. "It is truly a pleasure, Master Bilbo."

"Please, you must tell me of your people!" pleaded the Dwarf next to Lady Hafsa, practically bouncing where he stood. "I have so many questions for you!"

He slowly nodded and leaned back a bit from the excited Dwarf. "Sure, but... who are you?"

Thorin groaned lowly. "Bilbo, this is Pasha Sermet, the Grand Vizier's youngest son," he explained, giving his guests an apologetic smile even as his free hand lightly pinched the back of Bilbo's bicep. "Please pay better attention."

Bilbo scowled and roughly yanked his abused arm away. "How do you expect me to know that when I was standing behind all of you unnatural giants?" he snapped, taking a step away from the king before returning his attention to Pasha Sermet.

"Nice to meet you," he said, giving a short bow. Now that he looked, he could see a resemblance to the Vizier in his wide forehead and turquoise eyes.

Pasha Sermet smiled widely, showing that he wasn't offended by Bilbo's words. "Oh no, the pleasure is all mine! Surely, meeting you is one of the greatest moments of my life!"

Bilbo slowly raised his brows. "You've led a very boring life then."

"Sermet is a scholar," the Vizier quickly explained, looking at his son with fond exasperation. "He has spent most of his life studying with the masters in our holy libraries. He is here to record our journey and the signing of the treaty."

"And now I may add Master Bilbo to it too!" crowed the young Dwarf, grasping his hands together and holding them up before him as if he was giving thanks to his creator. "Truly, I have been blessed this day!"

Bilbo took another step away.

"I believe it is time for lunch," announced Thorin, stepping forward and gesturing to another set of grand doors. "Please, come right this way. The dining room is right through here."

As the Orocarni guests followed Thorin's invitation, Bilbo slid closer to the king and grabbed his arm before he could leave. "Please don't leave me alone with that guy. I think he may try to hug me," he whispered frantically.

Thorin snorted and patted Bilbo's hand. "I'll seat you between Dís and me," he promised, and then dragged Bilbo along to lunch.

* * *

The luncheon was held in a room as grand as the previous—though not as grand as the Great Hall, as Fíli whispered to him—and boasted a large, circular marble table covered in food. As soon as Bilbo saw it all, he felt a mix of hunger and resentment spike through him. Such a grand meal was only a wistful dream to Hobbits, but to Dwarves it was nothing more than a simple midday meal. It was enough to make him wish, fleetingly, that he had brought his pack along to take some of it back with him.

Thorin made good on his promise and sat Bilbo to his left while Dís took the seat on his other side with her husband next to her. To Thorin's right sat Fíli and Kíli and Prince Frerin and so through rank before ending with a withered old Dwarrowdam who had an attendant standing behind her. The Durins took up half of the table with the rest filled by the visiting party from Orocarni. Directly across from Bilbo sat a pair of what looked like brothers with the same coloring and features as the rest of the Dwarves from Orocarni. He gave them only a brief look over before focusing his attention completely on the food.

Thorin gave a brief speech that Bilbo didn't bother listening to before finally granting permission to eat. Bilbo wasted no time filling his plate to the rim with food—taking a bit everything within reach. It didn't matter what it was—meat or fish, vegetable or fruit, he didn't discriminate—and he gave little care to the fact that he didn't even know what half the dishes were called. It was food and it was free—what more did he need to know?

"The food isn't going to runaway, you know," commented Princess Dís as she watched the Hobbit begin to demolish his meal at a rapid pace.

"Oh, let him go, darling. He needs to eat more. He's far too skinny," said Prince Vílin with a light laugh.

"Bilbo, maybe you _should_ slow down. You're going to make yourself sick," Thorin commented in concern, watching him with furrowed brows.

The healer waved him away as he dipped a roll of bread in gravy. "Thorin, I'm a Hobbit, we don't get stomach pains from eating," he said between bites.

Thorin didn't look convinced but didn't push it. Instead he turned his attention back to his guests and struck up a conversation with them that Bilbo only paid half his attention to. He caught flashes of the conversation such as 'restorations' and 'trade routes' that, while interesting, was not enough to tear him away from his meal. It was not until the conversation turn to him personally that Bilbo finally looked up from his plate.

"Your Majesty, do you not feed your Hobbit here in Erebor? The poor thing has not stopped eating since we sat down," commented one of the Orocarni Dwarves, drawing a round of chuckles.

Bilbo looked up to see who had spoken, and found that it was one of the Dwarves sitting across from him. He was watching the healer with a smirk that Bilbo knew all too well. Thankfully he also knew how to treat such people.

"You are mistaken," he said brightly, giving the stranger a smile that couldn't be faker. "Thorin is not in charge of 'feeding me' like some exotic pet. I can take care of myself just _fine_, thank you."

"Your ninth plate tells a different tale," returned the stranger, his smirk growing larger as more laughs followed.

"And your rudeness tells another," Bilbo retorted sweetly, widening his eyes. "Tell me, do you know the state of my people?"

"Obviously not," scoffed the stranger, leaning back into his seat. "I didn't even know your kind still _existed_ until a mere hour ago."

Bilbo grinned and leaned over to rest his elbows on the table. "Then allow me to educate you: Hobbits are nomads," he said with the same sugar sweetness. "We have been ever since a _fire-breathing dragon_ drove us from our homeland for no apparent reason. Since then we have been wandering from kingdom to kingdom, struggling to stay alive after losing _everything_ we had. Hence the reason why I am taking advantage of the feast presented here today with my 'ninth plate'."

The table went awkwardly silent.

The stranger had lost his arrogant grin and now looked rightfully ashamed of his words. At his side, another Dwarf cleared his throat and looked at Bilbo apologetically. "Forgive my brother, Master Bilbo," he said, bowing his head. "He has offended you with his thoughtless words. He is still young and does not always think before he opens his mouth. I ask that you please forgive him his offense."

"You are forgiven. I am not the type to hold a grudge over something so simple," granted the healer, picking up his fork again and pointing it at the pair across from him. "I do ask though that you all stop regarding me as some exotic new creature. I am a person just like you and everyone else here. Just shorter and I can't grow a beard."

"Don't worry, Bilbo. Kíli can't grow one either," comforted Fíli, leaning forward to meet Bilbo's eyes with a playful grin.

Kíli squawked in offense as the tense silence was broken by a scatter of laughs. "Hey!"

"Now that we have touched on it, may I be so bold as to ask you of your people?" requested Pasha Sermet, perking up and staring at Bilbo intently.

The Hobbit sighed. He had been expecting the interrogation but that didn't mean he was going to enjoy it. "If you wish. What do you want to know?"

"Well, for starters, why are you here?"

"My Thain sent me here to find work and complete a task for him."

"What is this 'Thain' you speak of? Is that your king?" wondered Grand Vizier Sözen, tapering his fingers together before him.

Bilbo made a face of disgust. "Oh no, Hobbits don't have a king or queen like other races. Instead we have a Thain, who is something like a leader but not very powerful," he explained, trying to think of the right way to phrase his words. "They are in charge of seeing to the wellbeing of their clan and tend to make most of the big decisions for everyone like where we should live, who should go where for work, and other things like that. However, everyone in the clan has a say, and a Thain can't really make anyone do something if they don't want to. He's treated like everyone else and is expected to perform the same tasks too."

"Who is the Thain for your clan?" asked Lady Hafsa, speaking up for the first time. Her turquoise eyes were pinned on Bilbo with a fierce intensity that overshadowed her brother's next to her.

"Well, I live with my mother's clan—the Tooks—so the one is charge is my uncle, Isengrim," he explained, holding her gaze. He had a feeling that she didn't get a chance to speak out in such gatherings.

"What happen when your uncle... passes on? Does the leadership go to his son?" Pasha Sermet questioned, hands twitching as if he wanted to write down everything he was hearing.

Bilbo nodded. "Usually that's how it would work, yes. But my uncle has no children so it will go to my oldest cousin Fortinbras. But if something happens to him—as it's quite common for my people—then it would be my third eldest cousin, Flambard. Next would be me and after me my cousin Sigismond."

Lord Glóin suddenly held up a hand and stared at the Hobbit with a look that reminded him of Óin when a patient refused to say what was wrong with them. "Wait a minute. You're _third_ in line to being a... a _king_?!"

"Not a king, a Thain," he corrected, raising his brows at the gasps that followed and the stunned faces. What were they so surprised about? He already told them what it meant. "Hobbits don't have a caste system like other races. We're all the same."

Lady Ábria let out a very un-ladylike snort.

"You never told me you were third in line," Thorin commented quietly, staring at the Hobbit as if he had never seen him before.

"Well, you never told me you were the King Under the Mountain. Guess we're even now, huh?" Bilbo teased, widening his eyes innocently.

Next to him, Princess Dís snorted violently into her drink and started to choke. Her husband had to slap her on the back a few times before she was fine.

"This is _fascinating_!" gushed Pasha Sermet, pounding a hand on the table and sitting up straighter in his seat so he could see Bilbo better. "Please tell us more! What other clans are there? Are you related to any of them?"

Bilbo studied the Dwarf mutely for a moment before his eyes flickered around the table over all the expectant faces. He didn't like to share information about his people with strangers he just met, but at the same time even he knew _he_ couldn't just dismiss the request. It would backfire on Thorin and could lead to a political mess. He couldn't do that to his friend.

"I'm related to all of them but the closest one would be my father's clan, the Baggins," he started slowly, trying to make his explanation as simple as possible. "He was the heir but gave it up when he joined my mother's clan. Now my uncle Longo is Thain and his son is next in line. I'm also third in line for that clan too but no one actually expects me to accept the position." Again he got gasps and dropped jaws that he didn't understand. Thorin was beginning to look a bit pale and Fíli was staring at Bilbo as if trying to recognize the stranger before him. He ignored them and continued on. "But other than those two clans, there are the Brandybucks, Bracegirdles, and Grubbs. There are two joint clans as well: the Gamgee-Underhill and Boffin-Goodbodies. They were smaller families who saw the wisdom in banding together to survive. There are also three smaller families that did the same only in a village. The Bolger, Mugwort, and Noakes families all decided to stay in Bree, which is the closest village of Men to the Shire. They've become their own clan in a way but they consider themselves to be citizens of Bree now."

"Do you have no caste system at all then? No manner of weeding out the weak from the strong?" asked one of the Dwarves from Orocarni. He was older with graying black hair and pitch black eyes and a hooked nose.

Bilbo shook his head. "We Hobbits don't believe in castes, no. To us everyone is the same."

"But your people must have had _something_ of a hierarchy when you still lived in your lands," the Grand Vizier insisted. "Surely some families must have been better than others."

"From what I've heard, everyone lived pretty much as equals with some individuals being more respected than others. But this respect was _earned_ through _their_ merits or character and had nothing to do with their bloodline. The only 'legacy' that was ever passed down were character traits associated with certain families. But again, these traits didn't make any one family better than the other."

"Hmp. Perhaps it is time to rethink such foolishness."

Bilbo looked to who had spoken and found it to be another older Dwarf with a look of contempt on his features. The healer returned the look with his own icy stare. "Excuse me? Would you care to elaborate?"

"I simply mean that, perhaps, if your people had some sort of leadership, than they would have fared against that dragon more easily," the Dwarf drawled.

"It's a fire-breathing dragon the size of a mountain. I don't think it mattered _who_ the leader was at the time," deadpanned Bilbo, causing Fíli and Kíli to erupt into muffled giggles. "Smaug would still have defeated us."

The Dwarf gave him a nasty smile. "Certain about that are you?"

"You—"

"Watch your words, Pasha," warned Lord Dáin, speaking up for the first time. He idly swirled some his wine about in his goblet and peered at the rude Dwarf with a smile that showed a hint of teeth. "You speak to one who King Thorin calls friend. An insult to him is an insult to the Line of Durin."

"An insult we would all take _quite_ personally," added Lady Ábria, cutting up her meat with more viciousness than was required.

The Dwarf lost his arrogant sneer. "Apologies. My words got away with me," he said sullenly, lifting up his goblet to hide his mouth.

"That's not all that got away from you," Bilbo muttered, going back to his food. "I'm done answering questions. Talk about something else now."

"Indeed, let's get back to the mining agreement," requested Lord Balin, smoothly changing the subject to safer waters.

For the rest of the meal no one asked him anymore questions, but Bilbo could still feel their eyes watching him. He told himself it was only normal and tried to ignore the unsettling feeling that he had just made things harder for himself in the future.


End file.
